Blackbird
by SpookyMormonHellDream
Summary: Modern AU, E/C. Dr. Erik Riley had always been alone, with few exceptions - he'd expected to remain that way indefinitely. However, an administrative error forced a young medical student into his life, setting in motion a series of events that would change the both of them forever, if only he would allow himself to overcome his own troubled past.
1. Just Medals and Scars

**Author's Note:** _Hello again, my darlings, and welcome to Hell! Just kidding. Mostly. O_o Welp, here is my second novel-length PotO Phic, the culmination of many long hours of work, screaming, contemplating alcoholism, and above all: Feels. I sincerely hope y'all enjoy this one! It's my first modern AU, and while I'm nervous as fuck about it, I'm of course hoping that it proves to be an enjoyable story. I had initially hoped to have it posted on March 14th (Pi Day, officially, because I'm a fucking loser), but one thing led to another and that plan turned to shit before my very eyes. So here it is at ~12:01 on March 15th (*grumble grumble*). But in spite of that delay, please note that updates will happen every Tuesday, as I don't want to over saturate this story too much. But barring any major issues, chapter updates will be regular. Also, special shout-out to NewsieAndAGeek (Tumblr: phantom-of-the-keurig) for her support and the many, many conversations about how fucking awesome medical AUs are. XD Welp, I won't say too much more so that y'all can get right to reading and reviewing (hint hint), but I would like to make a note about what inspired this story to begin with almost two years ago. Once upon a time, I was watching the show ER, a medical drama that used to be on NBC and that was written by the wonderful and talented Michael Crichton (who wrote Jurassic Park, Timeline, Congo, etc.). There was one scene in an early-ish episode involving a helicopter that I thought was hella cool, and for no apparent reason I thought, "You know what would be fucking fantastic? A Phantom crossover! :D" So this was initially going to have some of those characters as well, but I didn't want the story to become too convoluted, so instead I focused mainly on PotO characters loosely based on Kay!Verse interpretation and adapted them to a modern medical setting. But I will note that as a nod to Michael Crichton, I left the setting in Chicago because I love that city and I love and respect him as an author. ^_^ The overall title of this piece comes from the Beatles song of the same name, and will be acknowledged further in time. Finally, the title of this chapter comes from the song "Hero of War" by Rise Against, which of course I suggest y'all go check out. It's a heartbreaking song, full of conflict and pain, and conveys some of what I hope to bring forward in this story, as y'alll will find out later. Some of (most of) the details of Erik's life are left vague on purpose at this time, and I hope that y'all will enjoy the journey of putting those pieces together as the story goes on. ;D At last, the traditional disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing of Phantom of the Opera or its adaptations, nor do I own the concept of Crichton's ER, and finally, I do not own any of the songs whose lyrics I used for the title of this piece and its chapters. That is to say, I own nothing, and I'm still fucking salty about it. Anywhoodles, I believe that's all. I so missed these long and pointless A/N rants. :P Remember to read, review, and enjoy!_

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Chapter 1 - Just Medals and Scars

Erik

 _I swear to fulfill, to the best of my ability and judgment, this covenant:_

 _I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those physicians in whose steps I walk, and gladly share such knowledge as is mine with those who are to follow._

 _I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are required, avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism._

 _I will remember that there is art to medicine as well as science, and that warmth, sympathy, and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug._

 _I will not be ashamed to say "I know not," nor will I fail to call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a patient's recovery._

 _I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know. Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death. Above all, I must not play at God._

 _I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person's family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick._

 _I will prevent disease whenever I can but I will always look for a path to a cure for all diseases._

 _I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm._

 _If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter. May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help._

 _\- The Hippocratic Oath, 1964_

 **Present Day, Chicago IL** \- I was very distantly aware of the various pieces of medical equipment blinking and beeping within the confines of the small surgical suite, steadily alerting all in attendance to the continued signs of life of the patient on the table before us. People spoke in hushed tones around me, sometimes to me - but I responded only when necessary. Otherwise, I said nothing, my focus trained entirely on the task at hand, and that was the way I preferred it. As a surgeon, nothing else matters to me beyond those crucial moments, beyond each deliberate and long-practiced movement of my hands, playing at a game that I absolutely cannot lose. We had almost lost that patient once already, had a hell of a time urging his heart to beat again, and I didn't want anything or anyone to cause another potentially deadly setback. But in the end, it seemed he would in fact pull through. Technically speaking, it was a routine procedure - nothing I hadn't seen before. And so I continued working with the hope that it would remain that way.

The phone which connected the various departments of the hospital to us was ringing in the distance, but I paid it little attention. Answering it was someone else's responsibility - my only task then was to ensure that my patient didn't have another close-call before his surgery could be completed, and that nothing I or my colleagues did during the procedure would open the doors to complications later on. The severity of his injuries alone was enough to keep us wary as it stood. Keeping my focus was imperative by nature, and as such I ignored the nurse's steps toward the phone and focused on removing the last of the bullets from the young man in front of me.

I knew very little of him beyond the facts necessary to keep him alive, although I had caught portions of a conversation between a nurse and the resident assisting me before I entered the surgical suite; the kid, no more than sixteen years old, had been caught in the crossfire between rival gangs - some turf war or another, a bitter reality of urban Chicago life. But that much would be all I ever _would_ know about him. In the end, I've found that it's better for me to remain distant - distant from the patients, their families, their friends, from any connection to their life outside of this hospital. More often than not, the patients come to me already unconscious; whether because they had made it to my department to be sedated first, or went under while still in the emergency department downstairs was of little concern to me - as long as they ultimately survived their ordeal. Either way, I never made it a habit to get to know my patients. Though outwardly discouraged, it is not an uncommon practice for surgeons, for better or worse, and by nature I'm grateful for the traditionally detached mannerisms of my chosen specialty. One benefit of being a surgeon is that I rarely - if ever - have to interact with patients. I can simply focus on repairing whatever it was that brought them to me to begin with, and that's enough.

That level of austere clinical focus is something that I desperately need in order to function, to cope with the realities I face in this hospital every day; I always _have_ needed it to a certain extent, but now more than ever it's imperative, now that my enthusiasm and naivety has been thoroughly chipped away by too many years and too much experience. I can sincerely say from fairly recent past experience that I cannot be trusted to be left to my own devices for long. There was once a time that I left myself prone to dwelling too much about circumstances beyond my control, and I learned the hard way that deliberate detachment is the key to my overall wellbeing. When I operate, I think only of the operation - of everything I've learned and perfected and applied to my career - and I have thus far excelled at that career because of this. My patients are almost always guaranteed to survive, and I am in turn granted _some_ peace of mind.

The nurse's voice broke through my thoughts, "Dr. Riley?"

"What is it?" I responded, never taking my eyes from my work as my hands moved in their rhythmic patterns.

"Dr. Khan, from the emergency department - "

" - I know who he is."

She cleared her throat awkwardly - if not annoyedly - and continued, "He wants to remind you to meet him there this afternoon, and to ask for him at the admit-desk."

"You can tell him that I haven't forgotten, just as I hadn't forgotten the last _thousand times_ he's called me about this today."

She turned away quickly and spoke softly into the receiver - I was certain she didn't relay my response to Nadir verbatim, though he certainly knew me better than to take offense had that indeed been the case. I just shook my head at the exchange. Of course I hadn't forgotten Nadir's insistence that I talk to him this afternoon. I had no idea what about, only that he was adamant that the meeting absolutely _had to be today_ as he hurried off in another direction that morning. I could only think that he assumed that I had missed the importance of his words in his haste. I hadn't, but my unnecessary employment of sarcasm coupled with several ignored calls to my pager were certainly not the most effective way to convince him of that fact.

We worked in near-silence after that inconsequential interruption, the wordless air broken only by the continuously steady sounds of machinery monitoring the patient. I strictly refuse idle chatter when I am put in charge of a surgical case - doing so ensures the most advantageous and efficient patient care. But moreover, it prevents me from adhering to the arbitrary rules of social decorum that would otherwise demand I forge some sort of superficial relationship with my colleagues. I'd just as soon avoid the ordeal altogether - I _loathe_ small-talk.

"Dr. Riley…?" said an unsteady voice beside me.

I sighed impatiently, "Yes?"

"I don't feel well. Um, I'm not sure if I can - "

"Go to your happy place, Dr. Morris," I said emotionlessly, "Or step out. Your choice."

I tried - very _amiably_ , I would say - not to let my frustration show in my voice. I didn't necessarily want to lose my temper with him, but I found his lack of preparedness more annoying than was strictly called for - and beyond that I simply had no patience for consoling any med students that day. I rarely do, and I absently wondered why his mentor wasn't handling his obvious distress then. I am no longer obligated to have med students assigned to work under me, and as such I'd been enjoying the relative freedom. For the moment, I only wanted to do my job and make my meeting - the last thing I needed was a squeamish participant getting sick and contaminating the surgical suite, potentially harming the patient and delaying the surgery that much longer. Rationally, I knew that every last one of us had once been in his position, whether we cared to admit it or not - we had all been afraid and overwhelmed and almost _entirely_ without real-world experience. But even so, I didn't feel generous enough to grant him that small understanding, even silently.

The student left quickly. I shot a glance at his resident, Dr. Lucas - a resident physician that I _genuinely_ did not enjoy having to work with. He was a hard enough worker - but he was arrogant as hell, and never in a way that did anyone any good. When I insisted to my superiors that I was correct about some detail or another regarding critical patient care, I supported my assertions with sound reasoning that in the end always proved to be in the patient's best interest. I was almost never incorrect - and if I was, I had the good sense to alter the course of treatment as the situation demanded. Dr. Lucas, however, had never perfected the art of balancing skill, intellect, and instinct, and did not handle being corrected well; those factors in combination with his undeserved sense of pride had harmed patients in the past, and were bound to actually get someone killed sooner or later. Considering this, coupled with my general annoyance toward the man, I confronted him rather tactlessly.

"Was this your student's first day observing?" I asked, not allowing him to respond before I continued, "If so, you didn't prepare him very well for this procedure."

"I _did_ ," he said defensively, "He was doing fine there, for a while."

"He should have left a lot sooner. This isn't a good teaching case, and you should've known that. Those bullets ripped this kid to shreds. The last thing I need is for him to go septic because your student threw up in the field."

"I'll talk to him. We've all been through this."

I allowed him that, simply because I _had_ just been thinking the same thing. But something in me wasn't quite ready to give up.

I paused before speaking again. "Your student shouldn't have been asking for _my_ dismissal at all, you know."

"This is a teaching hospital. Your input is as beneficial as mine."

"He's _your_ student."

"And _you_ are the attending physician on-call. To him, you're running the show, and for all intents and purposes, you are. He hasn't yet learned that this specialty encourages a team-effort," he said, then added smugly, "Apparently, you haven't either."

I wasn't willing to respond to that, opting instead to glare at him across the table amid the questioning looks of the nurses and anesthesiologist, before saying pointedly, "I believe we can proceed closing up now. Do you concur, Dr. Lucas?"

"Of course, Dr. Riley."

"Thank God."

I was relieved when it was over, simply because the energy in the room had turned so abruptly tense. But on the whole, there _was_ success to be considered, and it would be unwise to dismiss that fact. The patient had survived, and my duties then concluded the moment he was wheeled into the surgical ICU. He was the last case for me of the day - and barring any post-surgical complications that could occur within the next hour or so of my shift, I likely wouldn't see him again. I nodded at his departure - mostly indifferent - as Dr. Lucas went to talk to the family members.

It was another job well done, but a case like that always left me uneasy - in considering the big picture, I regarded it to be somewhat of a hollow victory. There would be countless more like it in the future. There always were; for every shooting or stabbing victim whose broken body I repaired, ten more came rolling through the doors of my department, just as years ago a grenade or a roadside explosion always preempted too many of the same occurrences to count in their wake. When I stepped back and really examined the nature of my profession, it occurred to me that it had been a long time since I felt like I was truly _healing_ anyone. Rather, it seemed that I was only one of many ordered to mask one problem in the same breath as the dregs of humanity contrived a million new ways to create more. Sometimes I had to wonder if that line of thinking - that peculiar sensation of mingled indifference and despair - is what the road to burning out as a surgeon looks like. And a burn-out does not an effective doctor make. But I dismissed the idea for the moment - there were never any clear solutions, and at any rate, dwelling on the faults of mankind more often than not only proves to be a useless endeavor.

Once I left the suite and removed the bloodied gown and gloves, I immediately exchanged one sterile mask for another. Even outside of the OR, I _never_ go without one beyond the relative privacy of my house, and I haven't done so for quite some time now.

What is still considered somewhat of an eccentricity of mine by others had earned me more than a few second glances and rude questions upon my arrival, as well as the following weeks of adjustment among my colleagues; but in general after that time, everyone in on the surgical service gave me a wide berth, for which I was silently grateful. For the sake of my sanity, I needed it to be that way. The mask coupled with my temperament made me an outsider, distant and unreachable, but I was long past caring. From the outset, I had made it explicitly clear that I wasn't there to make friends, that I had higher priorities. First and foremost, I needed the steady and somewhat predictable routine of employment to keep me out of trouble. But moreover, it was extremely irresponsible to allow myself time spent alone away from the demands of my career. Being a surgeon had become an entirely selfish endeavor by that point in my life - I needed my hands and my mind to be kept busy at all times humanly possible. And so, I while I certainly hadn't won the hearts of my peers, I had at the very least brought some semblance of contented normalcy into my life.

The locker room was empty by the time I got there, and I made it a point not to occupy that space for long. Keeping my meeting with Nadir in mind, I attempted to change quickly and leave the floor as soon as possible. I was mostly successful, only pausing when I caught a rare glimpse of myself in the mirror on the wall opposite my locker. I was no longer shocked by what I saw - certainly not as I had been in the beginning - but I narrowed my eyes as I considered my image just the same, experiencing what I can only describe as an odd and unexpected moment of clarity regarding the man I saw reflected in the glass. That happens every now and again, that strange sense of detachment from my own life, and this moment was no different from similar instances in the past; it was as if I was viewing a stranger far and away from myself, someone I barely knew nor had I expected to become.

I had removed my scrub top by then, noting absentmindedly how pale I had become this last year...too thin and too pale. In the far corners of my mind, I couldn't deny that I've gotten substantially better since I arrived in this city - but on the whole, I sincerely believed that I had to acknowledge that my hold on recovery was tentative at best. Not for the first time, I wondered how much longer it would last. I shook my head at _that_ particular train of unpleasant thoughts. I knew that continuing would only serve to invite potentially devastating setbacks, and I couldn't afford to be thrown off course again - I didn't _want_ to be. And so, instead I stubbornly decided to ignore the distinct flash of my arms' reflection as I began to put my regular button-up shirt on - tattoos on the left arm, savage scarring on the right...down my side, up to my face...But I didn't want to think any longer about their origins then. That was my cross to bear, that internal struggle of always fending off reminders of the pain and unpleasantness I wanted nothing more than to forget. If nothing else, doing so wasn't worth the anger anymore, especially when I still had tasks to complete before going home. The anger - the _bitterness_ \- surely needed to be dealt with, but they could wait. I would do well to remember that.

Still, shirt buttoned and properly tucked into dark slacks, I shut my locker harder than necessary. Slightly unsettled by my brief outburst, I took a deep breath to calm down, to brace myself for what awaited me downstairs, before I gathered my possessions and walked to the elevator bank.

~~oOo~~

It's rare that I find myself in the emergency department - only on the few occasions that I've been called down for a consultation have I gone there of my own free will, grudging though that action may be. Otherwise, I prefer to avoid it at all costs. There's something about it that grates at me, inspires a distinctly troubling feeling that lingers long after I've departed. Perhaps it's just too loud, or too chaotic, a far cry from the reserved stoicism that paints every day in the surgical service - though in being perfectly honest, I think I've just always found emergency rooms simply to be depressing as all hell. For reasons I can only barely understand, they affect me badly, and the one here in Chicago is no different - something about its inherently dispiriting nature pulls at darker corners of my mind, and I always leave that department unsettled and agitated and altogether possessing a more foul mood than when I arrived. I don't like being there - I can barely _handle_ being there.

Sympathetically bearing that sentiment in mind, when Nadir needs to speak with me during work hours, he'll more often than not arrange to meet me in the relatively quieter areas of the hospital - the roof, the outdoor designated smoking sections of the campus, even the cafeteria during off-hours. The fact that he asked me to come down to his department told me that his schedule was more hectic that day than usual - had likely never quite settled down since I had seen him that morning - and that our meeting would be short. And, of course, I was grateful for that.

After asking for Nadir's whereabouts at the admit-desk - _just as requested,_ I thought sarcastically - I was finally directed to meet him in the doctor's lounge.

"Do you want coffee?" he asked, motioning for me to join him at the round dining table and not wasting time with preamble. I liked that quality in him - he wasn't one to waste time and fill the air with empty words. More often than not, he was direct.

Cringing at the dimly lit room in desperate need of organizing, I simply shook my head at his offer before muttering, "Thanks, though."

"If you're sure," he shrugged.

"What did you need to talk about?"

He spoke his next words with nonchalance - _forced_ nonchalance, I noted, briefly redacting any kind thoughts I had so recently harbored toward his character, "I had a board meeting today."

"I know. You told me this morning," I said, "How bad was it?"

He shrugged again, "The usual. But we did go over some budgetary issues. How much have I told you about it?"

"Enough to know that this hospital is financially fucked. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Yes and no. It's about your job."

I stiffened at that, briefly entertaining the unjustified thought that my employment was in jeopardy, and wondering how that might possibly be the case to begin with. As far as I knew, I hadn't done anything that would necessitate my name being brought up during any kind of staff meeting. If there were to be any disciplinary actions taken against me, I was certain that they were unwarranted. Beyond being short-tempered at best with my colleagues, I knew that I otherwise excelled in my department, in my field as a whole. I truly could think of no real reason to be involved in any discussions, and I was alarmed by what Nadir had to say on the matter.

"What _about_ my job?"

He leaned forward and spoke almost gravely, "Alright, well...there used to be a fellowship in place for trauma surgeons in this department. But, because of budget cuts and various administrative issues, that fellowship is no longer available."

I narrowed my eyes, now admittedly confused, "Meaning?"

" _Meaning_ , the trauma fellow had to be laid off, but we still need someone down here to cover the trauma cases that the position is in place to oversee. Your name came up as the one that would fill the position. So, you'll be working down here for a while."

I couldn't respond then, unsure how to immediately react as I attempted to comprehend his words - I hadn't been expecting _that_ news at all. It was certainly within the realm of possibility for me or any other physician without tenure to be shifted from one department to another, that the hospital's over-worked administration could make these kinds of changes within reason when absolutely necessary. And apparently, the reassignment of certain staff members _had_ very recently become necessary. But in those moments, it felt less like a practical response to a budget crisis and more like a demotion on my part - an insult in spite of my logic insisting that it was not meant as such. Even so, I didn't want it. I couldn't begin to guess then what the long-term effects would be on my career, _nevermind_ my psychological wellbeing; if past experience was any reliable indicator of things to come, I didn't like the implications whatsoever. I'm not one to respond well to any unforeseen disruptions to my carefully planned and implemented sense of familiarity, nor to the feeling of a complete lack of agency where any aspect of my life is concerned. I had spent nearly a year managing to settle into a routine that worked for me - I didn't want to give it all up after everything I had been through to get to that point.

He paused, "There's more."

"Jesus Christ, Nadir - "

He held up a hand in a placating gesture, " It's not _much_ more, I'm just warning you now. You're going to be on-call for the MediVac chopper for a couple of weeks, until they can find a suitable replacement for the flight physician."

"Fantastic. Well, I'm not accepting _either_ proposal," I stood to leave, "Thanks, though."

"Sit down. This is not a request. Dr. Phelps is going to call you in tomorrow to talk over the details, but I wanted to warn you about all this at once, in advance."

"They can't just take me out of the surgical service," I insisted as I returned to my seat, still not quite willing to accept this unexpected turn of events.

"They can. We _have_ to have a trauma surgeon in our department to remain open in this county, and you haven't been here long enough to gain the seniority to opt out of this. Besides, you're the best candidate. You're a trauma specialist, and you have the most experience. They know you've seen combat - "

" - I would think they'd want to keep me as far away from any reminders of combat as possible," I said bitterly.

"Psychologically, you're competent to handle this kind of position. Unless something's changed recently that I should know about?" he prompted.

"Nadir, I'm no less _messed up_ than I was when I got here," I sighed, "But it's not worse, either. I don't imagine that I'll harm myself or others in the foreseeable future."

Pointedly ignoring my last bit of sarcasm, he said, "You'll do fine here, then. And you're much better now, you know. Whether or not you actively chose to believe it."

Dismissing his encouraging words, I said, "I don't _want_ to be here, though. This isn't what I agreed to when I took my position in the surgical department. Besides..." I hesitated before speaking again, "You can't assume I'll _do fine_ here. I _know_ I won't be fine. There's too much for me to handle."

He offered a sympathetic half-smile, understanding the underlying meaning of my words, "I know, but it's either this or risk your position here altogether. We'll figure out everything else."

"I _could_ just decline and hope for the best."

"It would be career suicide."

"Fitting enough choice of words," I smiled sardonically.

He flinched, "Don't do that, Erik."

I cleared my throat, immediately sobering and regretting my words, "Right. I'm sorry," I paused, "But maybe I don't mind going out like this anyway."

"You _should_ mind. Other hospitals simply aren't hiring right now, and I don't want you to have to leave Chicago - "

" - I don't actually live _in_ Chicago, to be fair - "

" - And I don't quite trust you enough yet to let you loose into the world," he held up his hand again as I was about to protest and continued, "You _are_ doing a hell of a lot better than before, but I think it would be unwise to test the waters so soon - "

"And yet the powers-at-be still think it's a good idea to put me in a _fucking helicopter_ \- "

" _Even so_ , you've made a lot of progress this year. I don't want to see you losing all of that headway now, especially not over something like this. At any rate, you need to remain in good standing with this hospital."

"I would prefer not to fold under these bullshit policies."

"You need to think this through," he said, speaking more urgently as his patience faltered, "Is _this_ really a hill you want to die on? You could've been among the ones laid off instead, you know. If you don't pitch a fit over this now, you won't be one of the ones on the chopping block the _next time_ something like this happens."

I rolled my eyes, attempting to ease the tension as I saw clearly that there really was no feasible way out of this, "I don't have much of a choice, apparently."

"Sorry," he sighed again, "Just accept this for what it is and work with it."

I was silent for a moment before ultimately deciding to accept defeat once and for all, "When do I start down here?"

"Next week. Three days on, three days off."

I scoffed, "At least my schedule isn't changing. Anything else?"

"No. Like I said, you'll have the official meeting about this with Phelps, someone will contact you with the exact time. I just wanted to warn you beforehand. I figured you'd probably appreciate that."

I laughed humorlessly as I stood, "Thanks. Well, it's been a _delightful_ visit, but I think I've had all of the good news I can handle for the day. I'm heading out," I said as I walked toward the door, "I'm more than ready to go home, see Rex. Maybe sleep."

" _Maybe_ sleep?" he asked in mock-horror.

I shrugged, conveying a calmer demeanor than I actually felt, "We'll see."

"I'll stop by later."

"That's fine," I called over my shoulder as I made my way to the exit.

~~oOo~~

When I opened the door, the sound of massive paws against hardwood and a blur of black and white immediately greeted me. In a rare showing of relatively carefree emotion, I smiled at my pitbull mastiff, Rex. At two years old, he was technically an adult, but I would not be convinced that he wasn't still a puppy in spite of his large size. _Officially_ , he was my service dog, and in that capacity, he was damn good at his job. But when he wasn't wearing his vest, his stoic and professional demeanor instantly gave way to his naturally docile and even ditzy temperament each time without fail. When he wasn't coaxing me out of a panic attack - which had by no small feat become a rare occurrence over the time that I've had him - I simply enjoyed his company. He was one of the few genuine joys in my life. I scratched his ears in greeting, laughing at the sound of his tail pounding against the floor, as I walked further into my house from the entrance of the mud-room off the garage.

The house in Schaumburg - a suburb just outside of Chicago and _substantially_ quieter than the sprawling city - is the first that I've owned in my life without the aid of family members. It had been relatively simple to purchase, even easier to move into after so many years as a self-imposed minimalist, and more often than not I could say that I was content there - even if I still didn't quite feel settled in entirely. It wasn't necessarily for lack of trying on my part, but rather a lifetime of experience telling me that I shouldn't expect to remain anywhere for long. To be settled anywhere only meant looming disappointment, I was sure. But this time should be different - _would_ be, if I had any say in the matter - and with that resolve in mind I had compelled myself to believe that it was acceptable to live in relative peace day-by-day, until the moment arrived wherein I finally convinced myself that it would last.

That afternoon, however, I was decidedly more restless than I had been in some time, still upset by the shifting of my position between departments and the fact that the decision had been entirely out of my hands. It had distressed me far more than I had initially realized. None of my usual interests or constructive outlets appealed to me, no matter how determinedly or sincerely I attempted to become engaged with them - the piano remained silent and untouched in the livingroom, vinyl albums and books lay abandoned on their shelves. Nothing seemed inviting, nothing promised relief from that unwelcomed and consuming agitation. After wandering aimlessly around my house for far too long, a dark impulse within me wondered if it might not be for the best to simply abandon responsibility altogether and hole myself up in my upstairs office indefinitely, pathetically nursing and Jack and Coke, a Scotch, - _anything_ really.

That afternoon marked the beginning of three shifts off from work, three days away from the distraction of my profession; I had nowhere else to be and no one to visit, save for maybe Nadir - _maybe_. But I didn't necessarily feel up to seeking out or hosting company by then. I could feasibly disappear for a little while and allow myself to fall into the state of anxiety and mental turmoil that I was beginning to sense on the horizon - and I could in turn _do_ something about that singularly objectionable internal chaos. I could employ any number of my old methods of calming myself down, forcing my mind to slow and quiet its relentless beating.

But I made my sincerest attempt to drive the notion from my mind - I knew better than to give myself to those kinds impulses, tempting though they were on days that threatened my carefully constructed routine of forced self-control.

After time, I ultimately decided to take Rex for a long walk. He needed a chance to be outside - _really_ outside, and not confined to the backyard for entertainment - and it seemed a simple enough distraction even as much as I absolutely hated the ordeal of going out in public. People, no matter where I go, are simply too unpredictable for me to tolerate with any semblance of patience for long. Some only stare at me impolitely, but then there are inevitably the others that ask too many questions, that come far too close to me, and without fail I'm regarded either with superficial pity for my plight or with outright scorn - some instances even turning violent. But the weather that mid-August afternoon was still warm enough to be mostly uncomfortable, and I assumed that not many people would be very willing to go out in it that guaranteed discomfort; a walk seemed safe enough for me then. I donned the surgical mask again, a ritual of preparing for the outdoors that I never neglect. Doing so certainly draws its own brand of unwanted attention, as it does in the workplace, but going without it entirely is impossible - unacceptable. I feel far more exposed when it is solely my uncovered face that is presented to the world. But surgical mask or no, it is still a largely unpleasant experience for me to go outside.

But that afternoon, it was more than Rex's need to stretch his legs that compelled me beyond the safety and privacy of my home. It was imperative for me to redirect my attention away from my problems, past or present.

So I called him over to me, waving his leash with feigned enthusiasm to excite him for his journey. As an afterthought, I put his vest on - dark blue with _service dog, do not pet_ in bold letters on the sides. I don't always make him wear that just to walk the neighborhood and surrounding areas - more often than not lately, it's truly not necessary. But in spite of my resolve to find a way to maintain my peace of mind without resorting to destructive methods, I was still feeling especially nervous, and instinct told me that I would likely have a panic attack before the walk was over. If for any reason I couldn't regain control of myself quickly enough, at least I could guarantee some modicum of safety. Rex would have to act in his official capacity sooner or later, I was sure, but I trusted him and therefore felt confident in taking the calculated risk of going out in my present state of mind.

Few people were out then, as I had assumed, and gradually I convinced myself to relax as I led us further away from my own quiet neighborhood. Initially, I forced myself to think of absolutely nothing beyond what was immediately relevant - cross the road here, turn left there, straighten Rex's leash...I had no true destination in mind at the outset; keeping track of my steps was simply a matter of preventing myself from losing my bearings. But that method _did_ help to a certain extent, and slowly I began to feel some confidence and even relative calmness returning. Walking with a feigned casualness at a steady pace, head held high in a display of stubbornness in the event that someone _did_ show up after all, I was aware of Rex pulling excitedly at his leash, only to hang back and dutifully return to my side when he remembered his manners. I idly tapped out seemingly-nonsensical rhythms on the leash's plastic handle, a habit that many years of musicianship had irrevocably instilled in me as I heard the notes drifting through my mind. Gradually, I deemed it appropriate to allow myself to reflect on the events of the day, assuming that I was calm enough by then to do so, to somehow make sense of it all.

It proved to be a mistake - the more I dwelled on it, the worse I felt. I could find no immediate answer, no way to make it all palatable. The fact of the matter was that the very idea of being confined to the emergency room indefinitely left me with a deep sense of foreboding; and tried though I did, I could not escape it. I knew exactly what to expect - every hospital is the same. I remembered all too clearly what the worst of humanity would bring through those doors, and I wanted nothing to do with that lasting reminder of cruel and compassionless people, their actions always raw and uncensored by the unstable nature of emergency rooms as a whole. I never wanted to be that deeply immersed in humanity - not at the outset of my career, and not again. People simply affect me too badly. Like it or not, witnessing the cruelty or suffering of others brings out the worst in me, compels me to believe that there's nothing good left in the world - it's a simple idea that's been steadily convoluted and dismantled. I believed that goodness was warped beyond repair in my mind now. I'd been through it before, that all-consuming mockery from deep within me, and that very isolating idea had nearly destroyed me more than once. Since then, I've done everything in my power to remove myself from that aspect of humanity, from the seemingly-endless barrage of cruelty and madness. I've chosen to _separate_ myself from that madness in favor of the relative control I found as a surgeon. It ultimately became too much for my mind to take.

But I didn't have a choice in the matter this time - I had to find a way to cope with the often violent and usually unpredictable environment of the ER at the very hospital where I had initially sought my refuge. The problem remained that I didn't truly know _how_ to cope in any positive way, and that terrified me.

Sensing my obvious distress, Rex began his skillfully ingrained attempt to indicate the stark shift in my emotions. Ideally, there would have been enough time between that initial signal from him and the anxiety attack itself to effectively _do_ something about it. But on that occasion I was not given the chance. Without warning, a car backfired as it drove down a particularly narrow street, interrupting my thoughts as the cracking noise echoed off of the cluster of shops and office buildings around me, and I immediately responded with an almost violent intensity at the sound. Nearly losing my footing as I did so, I jumped back, hitting a wall behind me forcefully. Though I remained where I stood, I wanted so badly to run, telling myself to be ready to fight as I felt a terror so fierce and pervasive that I was quickly becoming paralyzed in spite of everything within me begging me to take action somehow.

 _Get out...get out!_

It was just a car - I knew that, I _knew_ that. Under any other circumstances, I likely wouldn't have even noticed it or paid it much attention if I had. But in my stress-addled mind then, I wasn't hearing the commonplace sounds of a relatively peaceful world around me. I was hearing gunshots, grenades…I was hearing the sounds of war, remembering images of bloodshed and urgent pain that I had assumed were long since buried. And it seemed so absurd that they should appear to me then, seemingly as if from nowhere - I was in my right mind and presumably had been for the last year at the very least, knew exactly where I was in space and time. _But_ , I realized too late that as I had reflected upon the sudden change in my life and its distressing implications - its reminders of everything I wanted to leave behind me - I had allowed myself to become very vulnerable to internal forces that sought to betray me, had become distracted to the point of carelessness. So much so that I had inadvertently fallen prey to my old and all too familiar patterns of anxiety. I hadn't been expecting it whatsoever - it had all happened so fast...

 _It was a car,_ I told myself firmly, _It was a car. Calm down._

But I felt like I was suffocating - _drowning_ as I fought to catch my breath. Heart pounding so forcefully that I was certain that it would break through my chest, I slid down the wall that I had crashed against, falling crumpled on the ground like a helpless child. I was still holding the handle of the leash, but now so tightly that my knuckles had turned white. I was barely aware of that or much else around me, still very much in the throes of a powerful flashback. Rex hovered over me, nudging me and trying patiently to coax me back into reality. Countless moments passed before I mustered enough strength to respond to him, weakly drawing him close to me and patting his head to show that he had done well. It took quite a while to recover even after that, to convince myself of my own continued safety then, but after a time my heartbeat slowed, my hands stopped shaking. Without a second thought, I immediately stood and began to take the steps to return home, Rex continuing to act as attentively as he was trained.

I hadn't had an anxiety attack that severe in several months, and it was immeasurably unnerving to have had one occur then - it wasn't a good sign that I should have one that day. In those moments that followed the worst of it, I couldn't deny that something terribly wrong was unfolding before me. I felt like I was falling apart, that one decision made by a panel of people I wholly considered strangers should be so disruptively momentous for me, and as such I began to very seriously worry once again about things to come. I wasn't entirely sure how to go on from there, what decision would be most in my favor. All I knew was that I needed to get a handle on myself immediately, before it became too late to turn back.

History _could not_ be allowed to repeat itself.


	2. When the Day Met the Night

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back, and thank you to everyone that's read, reviewed, followed, and favorited so far! Y'all make me smile and I sincerely appreciate the acknowledgement and feedback! Just a quick note about this week's update. It's fairly long, and gives just a bit more insight into Erik's life. More details about his past and experiences will come in time. If you have any guesses or other thoughts, definitely let me know! And please let me know how it turned out in general. Also, I took some creative liberties here, but overall I strive for realism, so please let me know how that, the characterization, pacing, etc all turned out as well. Basically what I'm saying is for the love of God, drop a review. XD Finally, the title for this chapter comes from the Panic! At The Disco song of the same name. I think it's safe to say we all know a certain couple this song's lyrics remind us of. ;D Welp, that's all for now. Read, review, and enjoy!_

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Chapter 2 - When the Day Met the Night

Erik

There was a span of years when I was younger during which I wanted to be a musician, an accomplished and renowned concert pianist. I considered that faraway life as most young dreamers do, imagined the notoriety and fame that would surely accompany such a career - the respect and admiration that I believed was missing from my life. I could truly create art, and thus leave behind a legacy that I could be proud of. The notion was so settled in my heart that I had initially been a music major in college, believing that reexamining the fundamentals of musicianship and learning the practical applications of the craft would serve me well in time.

But I didn't take it all seriously enough. Where I had an abundance of dreams, I seriously lacked any sense of personal direction or responsibility. I graduated high school at sixteen, but I can safely say that was where my accomplishments came to a grinding halt for a time. When considering that impressive feat in my education, I had otherwise been a reckless and bullheaded adolescent. Embittered by my upbringing, I was spurred on by the fact that I had _far_ too much time to myself and an extremely overactive and restless mind. Even getting emancipated and enrolling in a local community college wasn't enough to settle me down. Accountability meant absolutely nothing to me - I sincerely believed that I was invincible and that time was on my side indefinitely, and in believing that I continued to make one poor decision after another. Instead of focusing on school and preparing myself for adulthood, I was always out doing something - and by then, it was usually something unwise and with people I had no business being around, to the point that I allowed myself to get into legal trouble before I was even eighteen.

The consequences of my crime - of one _very_ poor decision on my part - came to me quickly after the fact, and the choices I had for my life then became starkly limited. Where once I could easily have been regarded as someone with all the potential life had to offer and a God-given knack for intellect and creation, suddenly it occurred to me that no longer was that the case. I _was_ smart, but I didn't yet have enough life experience to see far enough ahead to understand that all wasn't lost yet - not then. At the time, I decided that I was merely a statistic, the product of a broken home and nothing more, and that there was no hope or promise of a better future left for me to cling to.

I remember clearly the bitterness and resentment I felt standing in that courtroom as I was given two options by a stern and stony-eyed judge: serve a substantial amount of time in prison, or serve my country in the Army. _He's old-school_ , I thought to myself as I weighed my options with Nadir and my court-appointed attorney, forced to make a life-altering decision in the span of only a few moments. I had never been overly patriotic - life in the military held no appeal to me, and even now I question my loyalty and my take on the politics at play. But less appealing than that was the thought of being behind bars for the seemingly endless years that would result in my sentencing. The military, for all its control over one's life, still seemed to offer more freedom in the big picture, _that much_ I knew, all things considered - and therefore it became my only viable option. Ultimately, it was in my best interest. _Prison will just make you a better criminal anyway_ , Nadir had said, so young then himself, _Don't throw your future away over this._ So grudgingly, I joined the Army reserve, transferred the few general-education credits I had earned to a college near Fort Bragg in North Carolina, and over time went on to attend Duke University in Durham.

Even so, during those initial years, a part of me still wondered if I _had_ to give up the dream of being a musician when it was all said and done. At first, I wouldn't have thought that to be the case. It was only witnessing Nadir's experience during his time in medical school at the university in Memphis that piqued my interest and caused me to actively reimagine my own future - and to effectively give up any continued notion that I would actually become a musician one day. A part of me regrets it now, wonders what would have become of me had I not altered my plans and gone into medicine. It isn't necessarily that my career is unfulfilling - that's not quite the right word. Rather, I believe that it's just too overwhelming for me now, made that much more complicated by too many sour years of experiences that have left me cynical and heartsick. And now I'm just...exhausted.

Yet at the beginning, it truly just seemed an appropriate enough way to assuage my natural curiosity, to form my own take on life and death - to gain control in a world where otherwise I felt powerless. My life up until then - between a tumultuous childhood and the time in the military and higher education that thus far had been uneventful and unsatisfying - had been entirely out of my control. Some stubborn part of me needed to restructure that balance, and in the end, to become a doctor was a calling to me - though really not in the traditional sense that one views a calling. I hadn't _planned_ on it, hadn't dreamed for years of helping people as so many other physicians do. Rather, I had simply stumbled upon the idea and could not relinquish it until my curiosity was slaked to my standards. And the more I spoke to Nadir about what he was studying, what the career and its specialties _truly_ entailed, I was intrigued enough to want to attempt it myself. Medicine was fascinating to me beyond words, was something that - unlike so many other aspects of my life - could be understood and conquered.

However, by the time that curiosity was satisfied, it was too late to go back, impractical and irresponsible to set out on another career path. I had taken my oath, steadily built up my reputation, and had seen enough of humanity to have some last shred of the desire to attempt to right some of the wrongs in the world.

But in the end, becoming a doctor had never truly been my plan, and days like this I was reminded of that fact almost forcefully as I ruminated in the regret and consequences of what had ultimately become of me. It had certainly led to some of my greatest accomplishments, but it had also caused some of my most disastrous downfalls, bringing to life the demons that I couldn't shake for long. It was an unrelenting cycle. Being in the Army had directly caused the PTSD and all it entails, and being a doctor became an outlet which both exacerbated and controlled the disorder. Lately, though, I had been fortunate enough that control had won for the time being. In the end, I knew that continuing that path of employment for the most part simply meant keeping myself out of trouble, if nothing else.

I was at a complete loss for what to do about work at present, how to seriously cope with the transfer to a department that set me so badly on edge. _But_ , at the very least - forcing the memories of trauma and destruction from my mind - I was slightly calmer when I returned home. By then, I was more determined than I had been earlier to redirect my thoughts to more constructive activities. And I stubbornly assured myself all the while that I _would_ be successful this time. Once I freed Rex from his leash and harness, I immediately made my way to the piano, feeling myself drawn to it as if it were actually calling out to capture my attention. Playing it was a bittersweet activity for me now, all things considered, but I could never stay away from the instrument that had captured my interest since childhood - not for long. No matter how many times I had no choice but to put music low on my list of priorities, I always inevitably came back. Like the tide returning to the shore, music just pulled me in. And as such, on that distressing day I knew that it would garner the most success in occupying my hands and mind alike.

I sat at the bench stoically - almost reverently - preparing to lose myself in that other world within my mind. For a moment, I studied my hands, their long fingers trained over so many years to hit each note with perfection. These were the hands of an artist, a healer - and in some ways, a stranger. Shaking my head to clear the negative direction of my thoughts, I took a deep breath and began to play, warming up to begin with before moving on to more complex pieces. Some were memorized, others newly acquired and still largely unfamiliar to me. I had chosen _those_ on purpose - they would require the most concentration. I refused to think of work then, of the panic attack, of any of the fears I felt looming in the wings. Doing so would only ensure that they would be allowed to attack, to drown me in the past and force me to forfeit my future one way or another. But there...there lost in those endless notes and rhythms, I was safe. I knew that much to be true. Excelling in my career was a necessity - but music broke me away from the harsh realities of medicine, of the impacts it's had on my life and on my mind.

Only later that night - only once I had played long enough to fall into a state of near-exhaustion to find a better sense of relative peace - had it occurred to me that in my distressed wanderings and my subsequent panic attack, I had forgotten entirely that Nadir was supposed to come over at some point that evening. He had never arrived. Rather, he had sent a short text message that afternoon - which had gone inadvertently ignored by me - informing me that his wife needed to work late and therefore he needed to look after their four-year-old son, Zachary. When I finally noticed the unread message on my phone, I responded simply that it was fine with me, and I wasn't lying when I said so. He'd come the next morning instead, he had responded, and as such I would be free to continue to settle down on my own. While losing myself in my music _had_ helped me substantially, the incident with the car backfiring had still left me nervous for the remainder of the afternoon and well into the evening, and I didn't want him to see me in that state just then - not until I could adequately explain it to him, until I had some sensible idea of how to properly deal with it all.

 _That_ remained to be seen.

But by the time I went to bed, I considered myself far calmer in comparison to the afternoon, and I allowed that notion to steel my resolve not to continue to be bothered by the goings-on of my place of employment - and moreover, to not fall back into destructive habits as a result. It seemed safer to decide then that I had only had a _particularly_ bad day and leave it at that. I _would_ attempt to request that I remain in my original position, but I would accept either outcome graciously - even if I had to force it. That seemed a sensible enough response to the overall matter. Having PTSD meant forming familiar and predictable patterns in my life in order to maintain psychological stability. _But_ , it also meant being able to accept and embrace change, especially change with little notice. Unfortunately for me, I had never really gotten the hang of that practice, but even so I needed to choose a course of action that wouldn't once again lead to a potentially devastating setback. There had already been far too many in the past as it stood. So that night, I felt at the _very_ least that I had handled myself more appropriately than I would have before, even as recently as a year ago. It had to count for something.

At any rate, I was grateful for the break from the rest of the world, for the privacy I found in my home that granted me the opportunity to simply calm down.

~~oOo~~

Nadir came to my house the following morning as promised, and at that point, while still moderately anxious, I felt more grounded - perhaps to the point of complacency, but I believed that I had regained my confidence even so. By then, I regarded the previous day in what I considered to be a more collected and rational manner. Warily understanding the seriousness of the situation, I simply wanted to put it behind me and continue on with my life just the same. Bearing that in mind, I was ready to speak with my friend about it. When he walked through the front door, he was as level-headed as I expected him to be, his manner familiar to me now after so many years in his company.

Now the chief of emergency medicine at our hospital, Nadir had always carried himself in that serious, contemplative manner; yet for all his stoicism, he always managed to maintain a positive attitude on the whole. He was practical, and moreover he was kind - genuinely compassionate. _He_ had wanted to be a doctor more than anything, had always been adamantly set on that particular career choice ever since he was a child, and as such he rightly excelled in his official capacity. Through years of dedicated hard work, he had earned it in his own right, and possessed just the right personality for it; his heart was in it even at the worst of times. If anything, I was envious of him for that quality, had admitted as much to him without hesitation - he was able to regard both his patients and his duties without the nature of the profession weighing down his heart and conscious at the end of every day, a point of view that I had never quite mastered myself. It was that temperament in combination with his talents that had gotten him the position as chief to begin with, only a handful of years after settling in Chicago with his young family. And selfishly, I was grateful for his positive attributes.

Had I not known him at the various junctures of my life, I sincerely believe that I would be lost entirely, if not even dead.

He and I met when I was seventeen years old, during that time in my life where I was very much at the crossroads between shining success and absolute self-destruction. He was brand-new to medical school then, just beginning to work out his career as I half-heartedly began junior college. Uneventful circumstances brought us together, but over time we forged a friendship, though very grudgingly so on my part to begin with. Yet somehow, he became my best friend and confidante over time, now my oldest companion, and - if I was being perfectly honest - probably the only friend I had left in the world. Everyone else, for one reason or another, was long-gone. But Nadir was constant, had seen the best and worst parts of me emerge, yet still chose to continue associating with me; over the years he's done his best to keep me anchored in reality. There have been more than enough occasions throughout the course of our friendship that my restlessness has gotten me into trouble - more than enough reasons for him to leave me behind and be completely justified in doing so.

But he was unfailing in his confidence in me. And since coming to Chicago and reestablishing myself in this respectable career and routine, I _knew_ I had been better, even as much as I tried to second-guess and outright doubt it; he'd had _far_ less reason to worry than he had a year ago. I owed him a lot, and I didn't want anything to shake his confidence in me when he had fought so hard on my behalf - I didn't want that one harsh but so far isolated moment of weakness the previous day to unsettle him. _I_ was certainly unsettled enough myself by my transfer to the emergency department as it stood, had left myself too vulnerable to that particularly vivid flashback; but after settling overnight, I was absolutely determined not to allow myself to fall back into bad habits. I've lost control too many times before, but in the end I decided that what I needed was time - even just a day - to settle myself down. And now I needed to convey that to him.

Considering all of this, I led him into the kitchen and leaned over the eating bar as I began rolling a cigarette. It was a filthy habit that I had inevitably picked up in the Army and truly hated, but every now and again circumstances called for the mild and temporary stress-relief they offered. Not the most _ideal_ choice, of course, but I had far worse vices before - and I didn't want to consider a single one of them again then. Luckily, on the rare occasions that I had picked up the habit once more, it never lasted long. I would easily set the pouch of tobacco and papers aside and not consider them again for months, even years at a time. This day, however, seemed to call for less-than optimal measures. I _was_ feeling better, but it would be tentative if I wasn't careful about how I progressed; I had enough problems to handle as it stood, and knowing that, I wanted to prevent any further setbacks.

"You're smoking again?" he asked as I worked.

I shrugged, "You know I do once in a while."

He paused, seeming to consider his words before responding, "Give me one," he said, and when I complied he nearly lit it right there.

"Not now. Take it outside."

We settled down on the deck just outside the kitchen door. Ordinarily, it would have been stifling to be out there that time of year, but that morning the weather proved to be tolerable - even enjoyable so far. I knew it would heat up soon enough - summers in that part of the country were notorious for being nearly insufferable - but for the moment it was somewhat of a relief just to be outside again, this time possessing a far better state of mind and breathing far more easily than I had during my last failed attempt to take in the air. Rex ran up to me - freed the entire morning thus far from his vest and duties - tail wagging excitedly as he dropped a Kong toy at my feet. Leaning over, taking a drag from the cigarette as I did so and absentmindedly noting that the tobacco had gone stale, I threw that bright-red monstrosity of his out into the middle of the yard. Rex bounded toward it, whipping his head around excitedly and nearly tripping over his feet as he did so. Excellent service dog though he might have been, he could never quite be considered graceful - he was all paws with no sense of balance. Successfully catching his Kong, he fell unceremoniously on his side as he attempted to get the small treats out of it. Nadir and I both laughed at his antics.

"How's Zach?" I asked after a comfortable silence.

Nadir laughed, " _Busy_. He's just busy, never stops moving."

I half-smiled at that. I had always been fond of his son, and he truly was an amusing and even precocious child when he wanted to be. But even though Nadir and his wife, Sahra, had been nothing but welcoming to me regarding their family, I felt very much like an outsider just the same, their domesticity strange and remote to me. I had very little family of my own left, and no real prospects for _gaining_ one at that. On many levels, I simply could not relate to Nadir's stories or experiences where his son was concerned; family was almost entirely a foreign concept to me - a concept I could not relate to or entirely comprehend. I had no idea how to _belong_ to one, that was the crux of it all. I was sure that it was a sad kind of state to be in, but one I regarded with only a detached sort of sadness instead of outright jealousy. But Nadir's pride was obvious, and I wasn't going to ruin that bright moment for him by bogging either him or myself down with thoughts of the past. Doing so wouldn't help anything - and anyway, there was no changing what had happened.

So I responded instead, "He's a funny little punk."

"He is," Nadir agreed, then ventured as he ashed his cigarette, "So you're smoking again?"

"You've already observed that, yes. You are, too."

"I'm just bored. _You_ usually only do when you're anxious, though."

"Not always. Besides," I looked at him pointedly, "I have plenty of reason to be."

"Sure. But is it becoming a problem?"

"I had a panic attack after I got home yesterday," I said bluntly, knowing there was no point in skirting around the issue.

He raised an eyebrow at that, but quickly nodded, his own way of mingling pragmatism and understanding as he responded, "Alright. Are you that worried about this transfer?"

"I was worried about how your department affects me," I shrugged, then said with a bit less confidence than anticipated, "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"I don't mean to offend, but I don't know that I believe you," he said slowly, holding up a hand as I was about to protest and continued, "I mean...just don't dismiss it unless you _are_ sure that you'll be fine. In fact, don't dismiss it at all."

"I'm not trying to. I was overthinking everything, and I got too worked up. That's all."

It was his turn to be blunt as he asked, "Did you drink?"

"No," I paused, "I wanted to, though."

"But you didn't?" he prompted.

I shook my head, relieved that I could tell the truth this time, "I went for a walk. That's when the attack happened."

He nodded, before pressing again, "But you'll tell me if you do…?"

I rolled my eyes, "Will I have a choice?"

He sighed sympathetically, "I just don't want to see you go downhill again. How bad was it? The attack."

I shifted uncomfortably, taking another drag as I muttered, "Bad enough."

"To what?"

"To unsettle me for a bit...not like before, if that's what you're asking me."

"I am. I'm glad it wasn't worse."

"Sure…"

"But in the future, you need to know beforehand how you're going to cope with this, ways you can deal with it before it throws you off again. Since you _refuse_ to see a therapist anymore," he added, side-eyeing me significantly, "you at least need to have a gameplan."

"Such as?"

"Such as staying _sober_ , and talking about it."

"Talking about being sober?" I asked sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes, "About your anxiety."

"I'm _talking_ about it now," I said with unnecessary defensiveness.

"You know what I mean," he said, then added gently, "You should have called me."

"You were busy."

"Erik - "

" _I know_ ," I responded, then softened my tone, "I know. But don't lose sleep over this. I think I'm alright now, I was only caught off-guard. And I _do_ intend to stay out of trouble, that's the _gameplan_ , and I spent plenty of time thinking about it. I just wanted to keep you updated."

He sighed, "You're _sure_ that you're alright?"

"I'm fine. Everything will be fine," I said, believing my conviction on the matter to an extent, yet still hoping that I could trust my own words in the end.

~~oOo~~

Just as Nadir said, I was called up to the administrative floor of the hospital some days later to speak with the chief of staff, Dr. Phelps. The meeting with her was simply a formality, an official and painfully bureaucratic discussion meant only to detail my transfer and position in the emergency department. But initially, though I hadn't deluded myself into believing much - if anything - would come of my intended argument against the transfer, it had been my last-ditch plan to ask her to reconsider the matter entirely. I wanted to assure her that my skills as a _surgeon_ were far better employed and utilized in the _surgical department_ \- I even went as far as deciding to repress my pride, forcefully bite back my sarcasm, and prepare myself to negotiate.

But she was as determined as I was - her hands were very much tied by numerous budgetary issues and a county that did not prioritize the funding of healthcare on the whole - and in the end it seemed that I would be staying put down in the emergency room for the time being. Beyond the fact that I _truly_ had no choice in the matter, it was ultimately her assurance that my cooperation would guarantee that I would be considered for tenure far sooner than initially discussed that convinced me to endure my sentence in silence. _That_ factor, more than anything else, truly compelled me to stifle my numerous protests once and for all. All emotional hang-ups aside, I was good at what I did - but I also knew that I lacked the kind of professional establishment that other surgeons my age had already ensured for themselves. At thirty-four years old, I was dismayed to admit that I was behind my peers in that respect, and I didn't want to remain at that point for too much longer. Moreover, despite my previous bravado toward Nadir on the matter, I truly _didn't_ want to leave Chicago - the prospect of guaranteed job security and an associate professorship there left little to be desired given my present circumstances.

So silently acknowledging my wounded pride but considering myself very practical just the same, I held my head high as I left the office, determined to make the best of a bad situation - if _only_ for the fact that not doing so could only serve to harm me in the end.

I rang in my first shift in the emergency department by hiding out for the majority of my time there. I wasn't keen on unnecessary socializing there any more than I had been upstairs, and it was more often than not Nadir himself that came to find me - then _reprimand_ me for what he considered the unforgivable practice of "ducking out" during a shift. But the cases for which my presence was absolutely necessary were mercifully not as critical as they first appeared - and therefore, they were short-lived, and I was free once again to skulk off under the pretense of needing to catch up on charts and other monotonous paperwork, in spite of Nadir's protests and much to his annoyance. And for the most part, I was successful in my elusiveness. I was regarded in the ER much the same as I was on the surgical service - the doctors and nurses kept me at arm's length, and I did not protest. Each department, for better or worse, has its own unique sense of camaraderie, and adjusting to new additions generally takes a fair amount of time. It wouldn't be long, I was sure, before my new set of colleagues began to understand that they had nothing to fear from me - but that even so, I was still not willing to befriend any of them anyway. Forcing contentment with this idea, I went about my work as I would have upstairs.

But the relative ease in which I spent my first shift was a fluke - I knew that much by the end of it. The second shift was far more chaotic. It's widely viewed as a provocation for bad luck to consider any shift _easy_ \- aloud or in private - and is therefore discouraged. Doing so _inevitably_ only invites an overload of critical patients and the resulting disarray they inspire. Absurd though it may seem, I've never worked at a hospital without that superstitious and unfortunate rule.

Bearing that in mind at the outset of my second shift - just as several calls came over the EMT radio line about multiple incidents within the city - the time abruptly arrived that I was called up to work on the helicopter instead. As far as I was told, there had been a multi-vehicle accident in a rural area, far away from any sufficient trauma centers, and as such we had to be the first responders even as our waiting room and treatment rooms alike overflowed with patients of varying injuries and illnesses. And so, while the emergency room had apparently been in _desperate_ need of a trauma surgeon in order to remain open to the public, I had to take my services elsewhere for the time being. Frustrated yet resigned, I pushed through the crowds and made my way upstairs, absently acknowledging that doing so was effectively bringing an untimely end to my contentedness. With an exasperated sigh, I decided that I had fallen victim to that superstitious curse. It had been many years since I had encountered a case like the one I had been called to at the _actual_ scene of the incident, but it was a trauma regardless - I was more than qualified to handle it, and upon my arrival to the MediVac station I had no real reason to believe that the entirety of the trip wouldn't be relatively standard as far as trauma cases go.

The doctor that would be accompanying me, however, quickly left me reason to doubt her own competence in the matter.

Chuck Farley, the regular flight nurse, had just finished discussing in-flight procedure with me when that doctor finally arrived, seeming incredibly lost and flustered as she rushed to ask for the information that I had just received. For my part, I was lucky to have remembered the majority of it - both from my own residency, when going up in the helicopter was a requirement, and from my time in the Army, when it was a means of survival. It was all very straightforward. The other doctor, however, seemed utterly confused and had to request repeated information more than once. Nodding his approval when at last the questions ended, Farley had left to use the radio as I finished gearing up. I had just put the headset and helmet on over my surgical mask when the young woman approached me. She looked absolutely terrified.

But, at the same time the distant thought occurred to me that she was also very pretty - even beautiful. Unruly brown hair fighting to escape a ponytail, lively brown eyes to match - and it was her eyes that captured my attention the most, those kind, compassionate eyes. Years ago, I believe that I would have flirted with her on sight, conceited and cocky as hell as I once was. Now, I had very intentionally put off dating and women in general after my last deployment, and silently reprimanded myself for entertaining even a single thought beyond obvious professionalism toward the woman in front of me. But even so, I _wasn't_ blind. She was simply beautiful, and I realized with some dark humor that there were some parts of my former self that hadn't died after all. I also realized too late that I was staring at her. In an attempt to keep personal awkwardness as far away from our professional interactions as possible, I spoke with forced casualness even as I felt incredibly self-conscious.

"You're the other physician?" I asked, gaining some confidence in the fact that both the mask and the helmet concealed a significant portion of my face - namely, the damaged side of my face.

"Yes," she extended her hand, "I'm Christine Durant."

I returned the gesture stiffly, "Erik Riley."

"Dr. Riley - "

"Just Erik."

She cleared her throat and began again, "I should tell you now that I'm nervous about this. I've never been on a helicopter before, and - "

"I know. I heard you talking to the nurse."

She nodded, flustered, "I just...I don't really know what to expect."

I shrugged, "They're loud, but I think that's the worst of it."

"Have you worked as a flight physician before?" she asked as she donned her own gear.

"Not since I was a resident," I said, intentionally omitting certain _other_ details of time previously spent in the air.

"You and the flight nurse have experience on your sides. I'm not sure I'm a good fit for this. I haven't - "

"You'll be fine."

She seemed ready to respond, but between my lack of willingness to encourage idle conversation and the pressing time limit we had before the helicopter's arrival, she was never given the chance, and once again I dismissed the urgent look of fear in her eyes. I didn't necessarily want to be _cold_ toward her, but I considered her a colleague now, and as such the same rules applied as much to her as anyone else within the hospital - our professional distance was to be observed and employed at all times. At any rate, the flight nurse returned before she could attempt to regain my attention. He gave quick instructions for using the headsets that connected all of us to each other and to the pilot, and finally the three of us made our way out to the roof access door connecting the small office to the air-transportation side of the roof. From the ramp leading to the helipad, I could see the MediVac approaching, _Chicago University Hospitals_ gleaming brightly on the side of the machine. The noise of the machinery and blades bore down on the rooftop at its descent, seemed oppressive and suffocating in its intensity even as the wind picked up violently around us. Instructing Durant and I to keep clear of the blades over our headsets, Farley led the way out.

Durant clutched at her seat the moment we became airborne. I couldn't help but laugh inwardly at that - the gesture was oddly charming, enough so to briefly penetrate my strict professional shield. Whether that was because she was so petite in general and therefore seemed small and helpless in relation to the interior of the helicopter, or because she looked _so damn_ out of place, I could not say. But her actions _were_ charming just the same. I was amused in spite of myself, and as the sparkling grid of the city below us gave way to more and more green fields and open highways, I took a moment to extend some kindness toward her.

"How are you holding up?" I asked over the headset, my voice unnaturally loud and distorted by the electronic device and the relentless background noise.

"I'm alright," she said, although the breathlessness of her own voice led me to sincerely believe that she was trying to convince herself more than me.

"Don't worry," Farley said, "These things almost never crash," then added slyly, "At least, not _usually_."

Missing his sarcastic intonation, she gasped, "What?"

"Ignore him," I said flatly, and she gave a nervous laugh that broke the tension.

"Two minutes out," the pilot interrupted.

"See," I spoke in her direction again, "it wasn't that bad."

She scoffed, "Speak for yourself."

"You're doing fine."

"Remind me of that when we're done."

I nodded and mock-saluted her, earning another laugh for my efforts.

But all levity was forfeited the moment we hit the ground.

As the door opened, Dr. Durant looked upon the scene of the accident with such a terrified expression that there was an instant in which I sincerely believed that she would pass out. A part of me thought this reaction was odd, but I determined that she was still badly shaken from the trip in the helicopter - however brief it had been - and dismissed the nameless unease I began to feel. There was work to be done, and none of us could afford to be distracted by outside factors - unless we were somehow immediately threatened by what took place there, our own concerns had to be set aside for as long as the patient's care was the priority. I certainly set myself to a higher standard than that, and I was determined that I would work with the same clinical detachment and efficiency with which I regarded my work within the familiarity of a surgical suite. This accident site could be no different if I wanted to see the victims through to survival, and I needed Durant to see my example and internalize it - _apply it_. Knowing from the outset that the she was a resident, I expected that I would only have to guide her in that capacity to a small extent.

However, I was immediately proven wrong. Something was off about her - something beyond the nervousness brought about by the flight. She seemed dangerously out of her element, to the point that I as time went by, I legitimately began to fear for the victim's safety; but we had to _work_ , and I couldn't be expected to hold her hand throughout the procedure.

It turned out to be a two-car accident on a relatively quiet stretch of road. The only other people around us then were the emergency crews that were called out after the fact. From what I immediately observed as I surveyed the scene as we approached on foot, the first car had fared far better than the second. It was the second that had required our presence there to begin with; when that driver had swerved to avoid collision with the other, she had run head-on into a utility pole, and apparently at a high enough speed to cause a substantial amount of bodily harm. The firefighters had needed to cut the car apart to get to her, carefully avoiding the steering wheel that had impacted into her chest. They were nearly finished working when we arrived - it was a graphic scene, one of the worst that I had witnessed for quite some time, and once again I was very aware of just how unsettled my new companion was beside me. We had no choice but to stand idly by for a time until the scene was cleared. When it finally was, I began to move determinedly toward the mangled vehicle, ready to work - but Dr. Durant held back.

"Let's go!" I called over the noise. She remained in place, wide-eyed all the while, so I shouted again, "It's clear, _let's go_!"

Finally, she followed, albeit still seeming _very_ unsure of herself as she did so.

The victim, bloodied and broken, was only semi-conscious when we got to her. I listened attentively as the paramedics relayed vital information to me. Nodding, I turned to Durant to see if she understood what had happened, what needed to be done next. Satisfied that she had heard me correctly, I turned again to the patient, speaking as reassuringly as possible to her as I bade her to remain still.

"Clear her neck," I said to Durant as I prepared to assess the woman's chest injury.

She moved closer to the woman, but hesitated once again, "I need help."

I narrowed my eyes at her, now incredibly confused by her behavior as I performed the task myself, knowing that the clock was ticking closer to a potential fatality without proper intervention. The patient had lost consciousness entirely by then, serving to heighten my sense of urgency on her behalf. Once more satisfied that the woman did not have any sort of neck or spinal injury, I called the paramedics back to assist in moving her to the backboard from their rig. When she was settled on the ground, I turned to Durant once again.

"She needs to be intubated," I said firmly, "Can you do that?"

"I...yes," she said, setting out to work with trembling hands while I saw to the other critical injuries.

She finished the procedure quickly enough, if not even a bit more confidently than I had expected - but she shocked me in the same breath when she neglected to ensure the tube was properly in place.

Suppressing the _very_ urgent desire to snap at her oversight, I double-checked the intubation myself - only to find, much to my annoyance, that it had gone wrong. Without bothering to correct Durant as I should have - partly in fear of the assured harshness of my intended words - I removed and replaced the tube myself, relieved when I could hear the proof of its successful placement through my stethoscope. Further stabilizing the patient proved to be incredibly difficult - but whether this was a result of the extend of her injuries or because of wasted time, I could not say. Regardless, there was a point where I could no longer detect a heartbeat, and it took far longer than I would have preferred to get her going again. Too many set-backs, too much inefficiency, and there was no denying that my companion's ineptness was partially to blame. It was exactly what I had hated about being out in the field - even when there were complications, a surgical suite was a far more controlled environment than that roadside could ever have been, its occupants guaranteed to be apt in their abilities. My anxiety was through the roof by then, but I had to bite it back forcefully. My focus was imperative; it was all that mattered then - focus and keep that woman alive, get her to the hospital immediately.

As we continued working to stabilize the patient, I became increasingly more frustrated with Dr. Durant - at her hesitance, her amateurish questions and that constant need to second-guess herself at every turn. It was as if she had never seen a traumatic injury before that day, and I found myself snapping more often than was strictly necessary, even going as far as disallowing her to work at all as time went on. In the end, I bade her to squeeze the intubation bag and nothing more as I determined whether or not it was time to leave - that was all I felt safe to permit her to do by that point. Finally assured that the patient could survive the transfer to the hospital, I conveyed as much over the headset to the pilot and was immediately cleared to leave. Farley had to stay behind for the time being, still responsible for seeing to the less-critical patient in the first vehicle, and I knew that I would be left alone with a resident that by then looked very near tears - but I didn't have a choice. I couldn't leave her at the scene alone, flight nurse present or no, even as it seemed otherwise cleared by the time we were preparing to leave. Gesturing with distinct impatience for Durant to follow, we moved the patient onto our gurney and rolled it as gently as possible back to the helicopter.

The trip back was as short and simple as the arrival had been - mercifully there were no major complications after that close-call at the scene of the accident. I didn't believe that Durant could competently assist me in the event that something _had_ gone wrong.

I didn't say a word to her once we returned to the hospital - I was too incensed to form a coherent thought regarding just how to approach what I considered to be her unforgivable misconduct. Instead, quickly abandoning the helmet and other gear, I assisted in bringing the patient down from the helipad to the emergency room for further assessment before her inevitable surgery, Durant following along silently all the while. I continued to adamantly return that silence with a coldness that I was sure could be felt by all in attendance. But once the patient was officially taken out of my care and we were left alone, I immediately rounded on the woman shadowing me. With another sharp and impatient gesture, I demanded her to follow me and stalked off, distantly aware that she was hanging her head as she complied. But I would not allow myself to pity her display of regret - not after what I had just witnessed of her professional skills. When we were situated in the relatively quiet suture room at the end of the hall, I finally released the fury that had been building within me, steadily mounting since we left the scene.

"What the hell was that?" I said loudly, my voice filling the air with a resounding intensity.

"I'm sorry," she said, tears still shining in her eyes, "I'm not used to this, I was nervous."

"What happened?" Nadir asked, stepping into the room after seeming to have been informed of the incident in question.

I ignored him, still facing Durant, "Nervousness is not an _excuse_ ," I snapped, "Your incompetence and hesitance could have gotten that woman killed."

"I needed you to - "

"You _needed_ to use your head and _do your fucking job_."

"Erik, _calm down_ ," Nadir said sternly, but I continued to ignore him.

"You had no business being there," I yelled at the young doctor before me, allowing the stress of the trauma to settle in my mind and cloud my judgment.

" _You_ have no right to blow up at me like this," she finally countered, "If you have a problem with me, take it up with my resident. I didn't ask to be sent out today."

I paused, taken aback as I comprehended her words, "What do you mean, _your resident_? Aren't _you_ a resident?"

She shook her head, "I'm a third-year med student."

"You're a _med student_?" I yelled again, outraged by what I was hearing.

"Why were you sent up there today, then?" Nadir asked gravely, yet extending his words far more gently than I had.

"Dr. McArt told me to go."

I wearily covered my face with my hands, my words distorted as I muttered disbelievingly, " _Holy shit_ , you're not even a _doctor_ yet."

"Erik - " Nadir began in a warning tone.

But lowering my hands, I ignored him and spoke directly to the object of my anger, "You _do_ realize," I seethed at her, "that you can't work on a MediVac without knowing how to intubate a patient, among other _vital_ skills, don't you? Even the flight-nurses have to get specialized certification. And med students do not yet _have_ those skills. You _never_ should have gone."

"But _I_ didn't know that!" she insisted, "Take it up with McArt."

I narrowed my eyes, smiling sardonically, "Expect that I will," then sobering, I added, "Why didn't you say anything about this earlier? _Before_ we left?"

"You never gave me the _chance_."

I rolled my eyes, "Then you should have been more assertive. Do you want to be a doctor? Then learn to _speak up_!"

Nadir sighed, attempting once again to redirect my attention, "Alright, Erik. That's enough."

But I continued my raging, "This gross incompetence is unacceptable. Even if it was the resident's oversight, _you_ still should have had the presence of mind to know that something was off. Did you even _think_ about that?"

"Stop it!" Dr. Durant - _Christine_ , rather - yelled back, "You don't get to talk to me like this. This is ridiculous, I can't even see your face. Stop being so _fucking rude_ and look directly _at_ me while you - "

Before I could react and prevent her actions, she had reached up and ripped the surgical mask from my face as she spoke. Eyes widening, her words were cut off and she immediately took a slight step away from me. But the damage was done - she had seen what I had wanted so desperately to hide, had stolen my attempt to give myself _some_ last shred of dignity in my work. It seemed as if time had stopped then; we three had frozen where we stood, the tension in the room becoming almost tangible as the anger and anxiety mounted anew in my chest. My hands balled into fists at my sides, a labored and desperate attempt to keep myself from forcefully pushing her further away from me. I knew that my anger was absolutely palpable. But even so, she continued to stare at me, _at my face_. And I couldn't stand that - after everything else that had occurred during our short time together, I couldn't stand that final blow. My temper flared once again, and I no longer cared whether or not I kept control over it.

" _Have you seen enough_?" I yelled, far louder than before, "What made you think you had the right to do that? How many more mistakes to you plan to make today?"

She didn't respond as she turned and fled from the room, but I barely paid her retreat any attention. Nearly shaking in my anger, I moved to replace the mask, unsure of what to do next.

" _Fuck_ ," Nadir snapped, "You just make friends everywhere you go, _don't you_. That was absolutely - "

" - Do _not_ lecture me right now."

"You need to apologize," he said after a tense silence.

" _No_ , I don't. I was well within my right - "

"Don't," he held up a hand, stern and unwavering, "Spare me. Your behavior was _beyond_ unprofessional. It was absolutely shameful."

"She was - "

" - _She_ needs a reprimand, and a serious conversation about hospital policies," he continued firmly, "And for that, you should have sent her elsewhere. To me, to her resident - "

" - She saw my face."

"It was a mistake," he insisted, "I'm _positive_ it was a mistake. She was upset and felt cornered, disrespected. And she had no idea why you keep your face covered."

I sighed heavily, arms now folded tightly across my chest as he continued his pleading stare - a silent and steady entreaty for my cooperation. I shook my head, adamantly diverting my attention to the floor in an attempt at stubborn resistance. I felt rather betrayed then; betrayed and very unsettled. It seemed _painfully_ immature later, but for the moment I could only feel the sting of Nadir's words, the misperceived notion that he was actively turning his back on our long friendship in the span of moments. In the past, he had more often than not sided with me when I had been confronted by others. I had unwisely expected him to do the same then, regardless of context of the situation. But ultimately - _distantly,_ for the time being - I could understand that I wasn't interpreting the present circumstances rationally. He was my friend - but at the end of the day, this was his emergency room, his responsibility. And thus it was his duty as its chief to ensure that everything within its walls ran smoothly for the sake of the staff and patients alike. In confronting that med student so harshly, I had violated a key point of workplace conduct, and spectacularly so at that. Nadir had only been trying to do his job by interjecting.

So, in spite of my present state of mind, I knew that he was right in the end - when I stepped back and really _considered_ what had taken place, I had the good sense to feel guilty for my reactions once I allowed myself to calm down. I knew that he had still been staring at me expectantly all the while, waiting for me to come to the right decision on my own.

If for no other reason than not wanting to disappoint him again, I finally looked up at him as I said, " _Fine_. Fine, I'll apologize. Do you know where to find her?"


	3. Help Me Burn Out Bright

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back, and once again a huge thank you to everyone that's reading, reviewing, and setting alerts for this! I love it and I love you all! So here we are on week 3, hearing from Christine now AND getting some more insight into Erik's past. This isn't all of it, of course - I'm having too much fun hinting here and there as we lead up to his whole story and see what makes him who he is. Anywhoodles, on that note please let me know how this chapter turned out, especially for pacing and realistic emotions and dialogue. I didn't want to make it go to fast OR drag on, so I hope I found the balance here. Either way, let me know what y'all think! If there's anything I can improve upon, let me know, because I want to grow as an author and give y'all a great reading experience. :D Finally, the title for this chapter comes from the song "Learn to Fly" by The Foo Fighters, because it totally made sense in the context of this chapter's events. ;) Welp, that's all for now. Until next week, my darlings! Remember to drop a review and above all - Enjoy!_

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Chapter 3 - Help Me Burn Out Bright

Christine

Upon my arrival at this hospital, I was informed that its rooftop - on the side opposite of the helipad and the subsequent risk of workplace casualties - served as a popular location for employees desperately seeking asylum from the stress of the demands experienced within their respective departments. Doctors and nurses from the emergency room, surgical service, and intensive care unit were the main frequenters of that relatively secluded location and spent a significant amount of time there, as evidenced by the strategically placed and weighted down lawn chairs and ashtrays.

As I sat there alone that day, I absentmindedly kicked away a few of the discarded cigarette butts as the sun blazed uncomfortably above me. There was a steady breeze, but it wasn't enough to relieve the oppressive August heat. At that time of the day, there were no shadows to hide under, no feasible ways to avoid the sunlight. Still, I didn't pay much attention to the heat then. In spite of my discomfort, I didn't want to leave that spot - not yet. After that disastrous trip on the helicopter and the argument with Dr. Riley that followed, I wanted nothing more than to be away from him and everyone else in that horrible place downstairs. Someone would come looking for me eventually, I was sure - probably Dr. McArt or one of the other residents, maybe even Raoul once he heard what had happened. But for the time being, no one had arrived and my pager remained silent, and that was an immense relief. I simply wanted to be alone with my misery and embarrassment for as long as possible.

Sighing at the thought, I stood and walked toward the edge of the roof, to a safety barrier wall high enough for me to comfortably lean against without having to stoop over. I was relatively content to stand there for a time as I attempted to collect my thoughts, looking out over the landscape of the city, over the grid of streets and up to the highrises that made up that section of Chicago. I listened to the traffic below - to its discordant rush of sirens and car engines and people shouting - and forced myself to focus only on those whirling sounds, muffled by my distance above them yet steadily roaring just the same. It seemed strange to me in those moments that not long ago I had been so much higher above the city than I was then, flying above it in that helicopter yet being entirely unwilling to actually look out at it. I had been too afraid to do so. Yet that wasn't the first time I had known fear that day, and certainly wouldn't be the last within the duration of my time at the accident scene. Everything had gone so wrong.

It had only been that morning that the first shift of my mandatory emergency room rotation had begun - that pivotal time in medical school during which every student gains the necessary hands-on training to adequately prepare them to work in the field of medicine. And within that milestone of my education held the potential for me to continue to be successful as a student - as a _physician_.

At the outset of the day, I _had_ been confident - even fearless to an extent; though it would later seem to me that I had mistaken my excitement for competence. I was the perfect student until Dr. McArt - whom I had only just met - impatiently dismissed me to a MediVac call for which he had not prepared me whatsoever, and it all came crashing down around me. And now...now I wasn't so sure of myself. After that nearly fatal trauma case, I was first and foremost absolutely certain that I would be immediately dismissed from my rotation, if not expelled from medical school entirely. Nevermind that my involvement in the case to begin with wasn't at my request, nevermind that my resident had sent me in his place. Dr. Riley had been right even in his tactlessness - I wanted to be a doctor, and I should have spoken up before we set out, should have taken responsibility even when doing so had seemed impossible. I should have been far more assertive, as every physician must be for the sake of their patient. But I hadn't been, and as a result a woman had nearly died; I was left questioning - and even regretting _-_ my decision regarding my career. After so many years of hard work, so many endless nights lying awake planning for and dreaming of the day I would become a doctor, I had to wonder if I really had it in me. After all, I've always been too soft-spoken for my own good, and becoming a doctor admittedly hadn't always been my dream.

It was watching my father wasting away - slowly dying from the cancer that tore him apart from the inside out - that ultimately inspired me to pursue a career in medicine in the first place. And although I was not able to set that plan into motion as quickly as I had first hoped, I wanted nothing more to be successful in that endeavor.

I had been in my first year in college when he was diagnosed - at the time, I hadn't had _any_ career in mind, opting instead to call myself a liberal arts major and be content to decide on something more concrete later. But watching him fading away, feeling powerless throughout it all and desperate for answers - for a _cure_ \- was the main factor in convincing myself to go see my career counselor and beg for some guidance regarding how to go into the medical field. If I couldn't save my father, then maybe, _maybe_ I could save someone else - could spare so many other lives where his was lost. If not, I thought that at the very least I could offer those now-faceless strangers some sort of comfort along the way, just as the doctors and nurses that worked with my father had been so good to us during that time of suffering. Dad had been so proud when I announced my choice - had encouraged me from the moment I made my decision to the time of his death - and I drew inspiration from his unwavering confidence. And though I experienced more than a few setbacks before I actually made it to medical school, I was determined all the while to see my goal through to the end.

When I finally made it there, I immediately excelled in my studies, feeling the stubborn urge to make up for lost time and to honor my father's memory by being successful - failure was not an option, as far as I was concerned. I worked harder at my education during those years than I ever had before; I believe that I worked far more diligently than my relatively younger and more inexperienced classmates, simply for the fact that earnestness and grief had subdued the need for extravagant irresponsibility that I might have otherwise experienced under different circumstances. But those factors had worked in my favor in the end - I didn't question any of it, but rather kept working, and it wasn't long before I surpassed those classmates in terms of acquiring knowledge and technical prowess; by the time I was ready to start honing my skills within the confines of our university's teaching hospital itself, I knew all of the information that I would need in my training.

But now, having to exercise that knowledge in practice, it quickly seemed that I was struggling to actually _apply_ what I had learned. Perhaps I was not reacting rationally, was being far too hard on myself for so many unforeseen hurdles. But today's incident - beyond my guilt for putting the accident victim in harm's way and the daunting, likely career-altering ramifications I was expecting from my superiors - had badly shaken my confidence. Once again, I grew seriously concerned that I had thrown myself into a career for which I had no talent - and thus, no future. And it broke my heart to even briefly consider that everything I had gone through, all of my hard work had been for nothing. I wanted nothing more than to be successful, to ultimately be able to help people somehow - but I wouldn't be of use to _anyone_ if I couldn't even make it through my first day, nevermind what that meant for the entirety medical school and on to my internship. I was all but convinced that today had been more than enough evidence of my impending failure. I had to fight back tears as I realized that I had no idea how to proceed from that point on, how to go about rectifying a complicated situation in which I had inadvertently played a significant role. And at the end of it all, I was simply a mess of my own making.

Though, meeting Dr. Riley hadn't helped much.

Initially, I was only intimidated by him. I knew from the outset that he was an experienced physician, and from the moment of our introduction he carried himself in a way that spoke of pride and great intelligence - if not a very reserved manner otherwise. But he _had_ been kind to me, at first, seeming to sympathetically regard my nervousness with a patience that I learned too late was likely not offered to everyone he worked with. He had been distant, but still kind - up until the very moment it all went to hell. And by the end of it all, in spite of the relative brevity of our time together, I was certain that I absolutely _hated_ him. I hated his abrupt temper and unfair judgment of me. And more, I hated that he hadn't simply let me _speak_ , both at the beginning when I attempted to notify him of my inexperience as a student, and at the end of it all when he saw fit to insult me rather than correct me. I had certainly seen his temper steadily rising throughout the trauma case, but it was still a shock just the same to really witness his ire.

Yet even so, beyond his transgressions against me, I knew that I had also seriously insulted _him_ , and in the midst of my frantic thoughts regarding my career and my determination to curse him, I had to admit that I also felt guilty for what had happened between us - namely, how I had reacted the moment I'd seen his face.

I hadn't meant to stare - I _knew better_ than to stare, especially at someone that had very clearly been the victim of a painful trauma. Throughout my time in medical school, I had read enough literature, had seen enough pictures and people alike to know just what a burn victim truly looked like. Whatever Dr. Riley had experienced to cause the damage in the first place had obviously been a violent event rather than a commonplace accident, leaving significant scarring to the point of deformity on the right side of his face, and down past the line of his collar. The damage didn't appear to be new, and it had clearly taken a once handsome man and torn him in half. I couldn't imagine how much he had suffered when he was injured. Our argument notwithstanding, there was no good reason for me to react as I had - to openly stare at him as if he wasn't a human being standing in front of me. But I was so distraught from vainly working on the scene of that car accident that I had completely forgotten myself and everything I knew, and Dr. Riley was _livid_. That was the only way I could describe it then - he had just seemed so angry, so utterly betrayed and unsettled by what I had done. A part of me realized too late that he had likely met with more curiosity and cruelty than he deserved in however long it had been since he had first been injured. To him, I was sure that I had become just another face in a crowd of judgment. And for that, I felt terrible.

But at the same time, he had absolutely _infuriated_ me.

I believe that it was the impassive quality of speaking to a mask that had set me off the most, at a time when I was still so badly shaken and angered beyond reason - my thoughts and judgment clouded by the effect of the larger issues I faced. All I could see of him as he raged at me were his eyes - bright, vibrantly colored eyes that flashed in his anger, yet were somehow so distant all the same. It truly seemed as if I wasn't speaking with a whole person then, but rather with a hollow figure half-enshrouded that could not be reached by logic or understanding. Had I been able to see his entire face - able to gauge his temperament by the set of his jaw, by watching his lips form his words as I would have for anyone else - then maybe I wouldn't have been compelled to literally rip away that thin piece of fabric that concealed the extent of his injuries. It was an object that I later realized was a shield of sorts for him. It was clear immediately that the damage to his face was a sensitive topic for him - there was no other reason to keep it covered otherwise. He wasn't wearing that surgical mask for its intended purpose - outside of an operating room, it was worn entirely for himself. And I had torn away that measure of self-defense. As angry as I was with him for his harsh words, I could understand what had sharpened his own anger towards me.

 _Still_ , that didn't necessarily mean that I was ready to simply forgive and forget his behavior, either. I just couldn't excuse the intensity of his reaction, especially when considering how poorly he had treated me before the fact. But the more I reexamined the events of the day, the more my perspective of the situation became entirely conflicted - once the dust had settled and I had taken the time to step back and reflect upon what had happened, I was very seriously torn between my own righteous indignation for being so thoroughly humiliated and mistreated, and the shame of embarrassing my superior in turn. But that didn't mean he had the right to react as he had, of _that_ I was entirely certain - he had been yelling at me long before I had seen his face, had never given me the chance to avoid the situation to begin with. I would be wise to remember that, to remind myself that I had been mistreated just as thoroughly as Dr. Riley, regardless of the differing circumstances. I hadn't acted in retaliation, hadn't moved against him out of spite - I truly hadn't known why he hid himself, had seen only a hint of the scarring around his right eye, but it was impossible to know the extent of it then; I couldn't be entirely held to blame. And so I held on to those facts, to the reality that he had been every bit as wrong as I had.

 _Rude ass_ , I thought bitterly.

I don't know exactly how long I stood there wallowing in those burdening thoughts, but for the span of that time, I had remained entirely alone and assumed I would be for quite some time longer. Thoroughly believing that notion in spite of the fact that the location was well-known in the hospital, I was absolutely shocked when I saw the roof access door open, not only unexpectedly breaking my solitude, but also admitting the very person I had been so indignantly thinking about. I at first assumed that Dr. Riley was seeking time alone as I had - and as such, it took my mind a moment to realize that he was approaching me.

I immediately stiffened at his unwelcomed presence, not wanting to share my new safe haven with him if it meant having to defend myself further - not wanting to speak to him _at all -_ yet distantly knowing all the while that we would have to confront one another eventually; whether that meant forging an unlikely truce or agreeing to maintain our distance indefinitely remained to be seen. I suspected the latter. Regardless, I truly was surprised to see him there looking for me so soon after we had parted ways, all things considered. I half-expected to have another argument. Dr. Riley was obviously very proud, and he didn't seem like the type of man to admit his own faults; I was at least certain that I likely wouldn't be hearing an _apology_ from him any time soon, nevermind any semblance of a civil discussion. And more, he had replaced his surgical mask - much to my dismay. If he meant to speak with me, I wasn't looking forward to talking to the expressionless face of a man that both infuriated and intimidated me.

But to my surprise and for reasons entirely unknown to me then, he slowly took the mask off, his eyes meeting mine hesitantly; yet all the while he was steadily holding my gaze as he did so, as if silently asking for my permission to continue the movement of his hands - as if fearing another negative reaction on my part. It distantly occurred to me that I couldn't blame him for that, but I forced the notion away. I couldn't allow myself to be distracted then - if he was so adamant about speaking with me again, then I had to prove that I would no longer tolerate his attitude toward me. And so, instead of turning away - as I was sure he assumed I would - I returned his stare and simply continued to look at him with more confidence than I actually felt, this time challenging him to try and continue his tirade against me now. He told me earlier to _speak up_ , so I would. Ignoring my inherent shyness, I would do _exactly_ that, even as the prospect of doing so terrified me. But he seemed to understand that unspoken determination in my challenge. Now completely unmasked, he continued walking purposefully toward me, his black hair disheveled by the wind.

"Tell me you're not up here to jump," Dr. Riley said in an awkward attempt at humor when he reached my side at the safety barrier. He was far taller than me; I hadn't quite comprehended that earlier - hadn't even considered it when I had confronted him - but now noted that feature as he had to lean over to rest his arms beside mine, maintaining a respectful distance as he did so.

But I was still too angry to consider that detail for long, or to respond in kind, forcing my voice to remain steady as I asked instead, "Are you here to dismiss me from my ER rotation?"

"No, I'm not," he said evenly, still looking at me closely, as if waiting for me to demand for him to leave.

Somewhat relieved by his answer, yet still rather unwilling and unready to engage in any substantial conversation, I asked, "How did you know where to find me?"

"Dr. Khan said you'd probably be here. Apparently, you're not the only one that comes up top when it hits the fan downstairs," he said.

"Right," I said, feeling foolish that I had forgotten that it was one of the emergency room nurses that had told me about this place. But in spite of my best efforts, I _was_ distracted, more pressing issues weighing on my mind as I asked, "Did...did that woman from the accident end up dying?"

"No. She'll make it," he responded firmly.

"Are you sure? _Absolutely_ sure?"

He rolled his eyes, " _Yes_. I checked in on her on the surgical floor before I came up here. She's fine," he insisted as he pulled a hand-rolled cigarette and a lighter from a silver case in his pocket, "Do you mind?"

"No, go ahead," I muttered, focused more on my relief regarding the news of the patient's wellbeing. He wordlessly offered me one then, but I rejected it, saying only, "I don't smoke."

"Good. Don't start," he said, pausing to light his cigarette.

Risking his renewed fury - but too recklessly stubborn to care by that point - I turned my head enough to chance a better look at him as he held his hand up to shield his lighter against the wind, taking in the severity of the scarred side of his face once again and noting another scar on his neck. As with his burns, I couldn't imagine what the other scar was from. He must have had so many stories behind the marks on his skin - I was almost saddened that we had gotten off to such a bad start, and therefore would likely _never_ become friends. I was sure that hearing of his past experiences would have been fascinating if we had. As I contemplated that, I noticed his left hand as he took a drag from his cigarette, just barely seeing the edge of a tattoo at his wrist before the movement of his arm caused his sleeve to shift and cover his skin again. I couldn't tell what the tattoo was from that brief glance, and absently wondered how far up his arm the ink went. But I didn't consider it for long when I realized that he was looking at me now as well, studying me as I was studying him - a moment lasting only an instant yet was all intensity on his part, and none of the former rudeness on mine - and thus my eyes bravely fell on his face once again. Namely, his eyes. _Hazel,_ I thought distantly, _They're hazel. They're so bright..._ But I wouldn't allow myself to get too lost in my thoughts for much longer - I didn't want him to believe that I was outright staring again after all, certainly not after already making that mistake once before.

Remembering my manners, I shifted my gaze back over to the cityscape ahead of me, taking a breath in an attempt to further collect my thoughts. I hadn't expected that relatively amicable encounter at all, and it was admittedly disarming to my very recently irate perspective. A strained silence stretched on between us - a strange and unspoken acknowledgment that, of course, we _had_ in fact seen one another, had just held a painfully brief and awkward conversation, yet in spite of that push toward continued communication we were now rendered at a unanimous standstill just the same. It wasn't immediately clear who would break that tense silence first. That stubborn streak in me insisted that it didn't seem right that I should be the one to surrender. _He_ certainly had enough opportunities to do so...and yet after a moment I realized that he seemed to hesitate on countless attempts to try. And all at once, my anger lessened just enough to calm me down as I simply grew confused by his continued silence. I turned to face him again directly and noted that he was staring into the distance as intently as I had been, his expression once again unreadable - yet even so I sensed that he was still having difficulty choosing his words. And so, disregarding any caution or lingering exasperation I had left, I decided that it would have to be me to speak first after all.

"You have an accent," I observed abruptly, narrowing my eyes at him in consideration.

I had meant to open a neutral conversation between us far more gracefully than _that_ absurdly blunt statement, perhaps introduce a far different line of questioning and give us an easy escape from our respective discomfort - at least until the time came when we inevitably would have to speak more seriously. But I couldn't deny that I was also genuinely intrigued by him at the same time, momentarily forgetting everything else. At any rate, I wasn't sure then if I would have the chance to speak directly with him again - not about something unrelated to arguments or anger or medicine, at least. I had noticed his accent earlier, but it had been so unclear during the trauma case and his subsequent tirade. Now that he had also seemed to calm down significantly - more closely reflecting the reserved demeanor he possessed when we first met - his manner of speaking became far more distinct, more careful. During this brief half-conversation, I had absentmindedly begun to consider the very noticeable way he spoke his words - slowly, deliberately, hiding an otherwise pleasant drawl behind a forced articulation that effectively hid its exact origins within his deep voice. But it _was_ there, I was sure of it, and I wanted to know more - maybe for no other reason than to simply have a somewhat calculated method of distracting from and further controlling my anger in those moments.

He turned to face me again, eyebrow raised incredulously, "What do you mean?"

"Sorry, I've been noticing it all day, but I can't place it. Where are you from?"

"Does it matter?" he asked, but I could not detect anger in his voice, and that encouraged me to carry on.

"I'm just curious," I said, half-shrugging awkwardly.

He sighed and rolled his eyes again, but answered regardless, "Tennessee. I grew up in Memphis."

"Memphis," I repeated as I smiled sadly, "I'm sure that was nice."

"Right," he said flatly, turning his head to blow smoke away from me and seeming to have no intention of expanding his response, and I knew then that small-talk wouldn't get me much further. And besides, we had far more pressing issues to address, and it was high time to introduce that conversation and be done with it.

I sighed and finally asked wearily, "Dr. Riley, _why_ are you up here? You said that you aren't here to dismiss me, and I could have checked on that patient myself."

"I was told that I need to apologize to you," he said after a time. Puzzled, I turned to look at him as he continued, "And I'm admittedly inclined to agree."

Now very thoroughly taken aback, I scoffed just the same, minding my patience but still feeling that it was my turn once again to be offended, "Do you _actually_ agree? Or are you just apologizing because your supervisor told you to?"

"Under the advisement of Dr. Khan, my supervisor, yes. I _was_ told to apologize for handling the situation as I did. But under the advisement of Dr. Khan, my _friend_ , it also came to my attention I didn't treat you fairly at all."

I smiled sardonically, "No, you didn't."

He continued, turning his head slightly away again, now just enough to keep the damaged side out of my sight, "Initially, I only intended to find you and to do what I was told, make a clean break and never consider what happened again. But the more I thought about it, the more I came to understand that I needed to make this apology to you _sincerely_."

"You really didn't intend to be sincere before?"

"Absolutely not," he laughed humorlessly before adding, "But I _am_ sincere now. Really, miss Durant, I'm sorry. I hope that you'll accept my apology."

I shook my head, "I don't know…"

"I'm not very good at this, but I really _am_ trying to do this right," he said almost pleadingly, "I don't know why, but I'm _trying_. I promise."

I sighed, considering the gravity of his apology thoughtfully for a time - and ultimately I decided to relent. Brutally straightforward though his words were, I truly believed then that he was being honest when he spoke them. And with that initially hesitant understanding, my anger finally faded, and with it my stubborn desire to challenge him; enough so that I felt myself genuinely relax, at least where Dr. Riley was concerned. But once again, I found myself at a loss as to how to move forward from that moment. I had been so thoroughly convinced that he was too proud to apologize to me that I hadn't considered what I might do if that were to _actually_ happen. I was grateful for the gesture, but even so I knew that I had to say something to him in return - I had to wholly acknowledge our conflict and make amends for my own behavior as well. Because it didn't matter then which of us hurt the other more; rather, what fundamentally mattered to me was the fact that, if I truly _wasn't_ going to be dismissed from my rotation, then it was within the realm of logic that we would be working together in some capacity sooner or later, and for the sake of the effective management of our shared workplace, we needed to be on good terms to do so. For better or worse, we had to be able to function together amiably for the duration of my time in the emergency department. So realizing this, I knew that it was my turn to clear the air.

"I should apologize, too," I said softly, "That whole situation...neither of us were at our best, I'm sure. And I shouldn't have called you fucking rude."

"Even though I _was_ being fucking rude."

I tried to hide a smile at that, "It was unprofessional, at any rate."

"Fine. But I shouldn't have yelled at you the way I did in the first place. _That_ was unprofessional. I didn't know about the oversight, but I should have confirmed whether or not you should have gone on that trip. And…" he paused, "I know that _you_ didn't know about the mask."

"No, Dr. Riley, I didn't."

"Erik."

"What?"

"I prefer not to go by my last name, though that request usually goes ignored," he said with some humor, obviously noting that he had already told me to call him by his first name. But he continued amiably, "Just call me Erik."

"I will," I nodded before adding, "And call me Christine. 'Miss Durant' is too formal."

"Alright. Well once again, I'm sorry, Christine. I was wrong."

"We both were," I concluded, leaning against the barrier again, "Either way, this is turning out to be a terrible first day for me. I can't get anything right here," I sighed, "I was better off behind a desk."

"You've _just_ started working, and you're still a student," he said, "You have a lot to learn."

I scoffed, "Obviously. But still, that woman could have died because of me - "

" - She's doing _fine_."

"Even so, I really am still worried that I'm going to get kicked out over this."

"No, you won't. It was technically an administrative error. Dr. McArt will likely receive disciplinary action, but nothing that will jeopardize his own career. He _certainly_ should have known better, but since no one died because of his carelessness, that's about all that'll happen. And at the worst, _you'll_ just be reprimanded."

That piqued my interest, "Is that all?"

"Probably. It's Dr. Khan's responsibility now, but I really think you're safe. Though, don't think you're entirely excused from what happened today, either. You need to take a serious look at this hospital's treatment policies before you try to do any procedures on your own again. But your career isn't _over_ because of this."

"That's...such a huge relief," I said, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Dr. Riley - _Erik_ \- nodded, "Make sure you explain yourself properly to your resident and his higher-ups, though. _Before_ the end of your shift. Don't make them think you're hiding something, because you're not."

"I'll talk to them," I confirmed, before saying as softly as I could against the wind, "I hadn't meant for any of this to happen."

"I know," he said as he tapped the ashes from the cigarette in his left hand, seeming to consider his words before he spoke, "You had _very_ unfortunate luck when getting matched with a resident here. McArt _is_ generally good at what he does, but to my knowledge, he also has no patience for his students. He'll more often than not send you on his errands if it means avoiding interacting with you for too long, and that leads to serious consequences."

"Just like today," I observed miserably.

"Just like today," he agreed, and continued, "So I don't think you'll be learning much from him."

" _Fantastic_ ," I sighed, "What am I supposed to do?"

"Work hard regardless, stay a step ahead whenever you can. Force him to listen to you, to guide you," he paused, "The academic year just started, didn't it?"

"Just this week."

"So this is your first rotation?" he asked, and at my affirmative nod, he continued, " _Now_ would be a good time to learn to stand up for yourself. This won't be the last time you end up in a complicated situation, and you have to learn how to handle yourself properly. Like a _doctor_."

I shrugged, slightly amused that I had just been thinking along similar lines as I responded, "Sure, but I can only do so much on my own. Ideally, I'd have a resident willing to _teach_ me how to do all of that."

"Then ask the other doctors for help. Hell, come to me, if you want." he said, as if that was the most obvious response. But then he paused, seeming to very seriously examine the weight of his next words before he spoke again, "Actually, you _should_. Let me...tutor you, I guess."

"Exclusively?" I asked.

"Yes. Just you, and only when you absolutely need me. But I'll teach you whatever I can when you ask."

"Why?"

"Call it my penance for today."

When considering how badly we had gotten along so very recently, I was absolutely shocked by his offer in spite of our so recently making amends. As such, I was not entirely ready to believe his sincerity again, and opted to hide behind humor and feigned insult instead as I asked, "So working with me would be a _punishment_ for you?"

He grinned, genuinely smiled as he said, "You can't say I don't deserve it."

I was able to laugh at that, "Look, I appreciate this, and I'm glad we resolved what happened earlier. But in your case for the longterm, don't think I'd be a good student."

"I'm not a good teacher," he shrugged, "I'm stubborn and impatient. But you're obviously brave enough to call me on my bullshit."

I laughed again at his candor, "Then we're well-suited to each other."

"So let me help you."

I took a deep breath as I sincerely considered his offer once more. Admittedly, I felt immensely better about my situation the longer our conversation progressed - relieved that everything had turned out well in the end - and I realized then without a doubt that I was more than ready to return to my work and to reignite my former confidence. It was time for me to remember why I was going through all of this in the first place - I wanted to help people. I wanted to be an effective and compassionate doctor and just _help people_. Erik had granted me an invaluable offer in helping me to reach that goal. It made sense to have a tutor as I learned the key points of the profession, a sort of mentor that was clearly willing to assist me should I be in need of help - and when considering the demands that would be presented to me as a student, I was sure that I _would_ be needing that extra assistance sooner or later. Even if he only worked with me during my emergency room rotation, then at least I would go on to the rest with a solid foundation of knowledge and skills. And so, due to my immense desire and near-desperation to be successful in a career through which I intended to only do good in the world, coupled with the knowledge that this man standing beside me could very likely fill in as an adequate instructor where my resident clearly lacked, I at last relented once again.

"If you promise not to have any repeats of today, then I think I'll take you up on that offer."

"I promise," he said with a half-smile, seemingly satisfied with my condition.

There was another silence between us, comfortable now in the wake of our productive conversation. Determined to continue on that trajectory, I said, "I really am sorry about what I did earlier...with your mask, I mean. I should've known better."

"Don't make a habit of unmasking me, and we'll get along together just fine."

"Deal."

"Thanks."

"How did it happen?" I asked, before realizing my rudeness. Upon voicing this particular inquiry, I had it in mind that I simply wanted to know enough about him to at least not make another slip-up when we worked together in the future. I hoped to better understand him and perhaps be able to prevent any further tension between us. But I had been so relieved that we had come to that peaceful and unexpected understanding - so elated that I had gained this unlikely ally - that I had forgotten exactly to whom I was speaking. We _had_ made amends, but at the end of the day, he was still my superior - not a close friend from whom I could ask for personal information. Erik seemed to flinch when I asked my question, and once again I felt that I had hurt or insulted him somehow. Cringing at my oversight, I knew that I had made another mistake, and I didn't want to undo the progress we had just made in our working relationship. Learning to communicate with him would not be easy, I was sure. But the emergency department rotation was eight weeks in length, eight weeks during which I was certain that I would be interacting with him relatively often, and as such I at least had to try. And so I cleared my throat awkwardly, shaking my head and hastily adding, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

He sighed and responded flatly, "It's fine. I was in the Army," he gestured tersely to the right side of his face, "It was a roadside bomb, during my last deployment."

 _The Army...A roadside bomb_...I thought, grimly considering his words, considering the gravity of his statement and distantly horrified at the implications of those words and the clear evidence of destruction before me. That brief explanation made sense, now that I could put the scarring into proper context. I nodded, suspecting that there certainly was far more to the story than he was letting on, and likely more damage to his body than he was willing to reveal - but I finally knew better then than to press the issue further once more. So instead, I responded quietly, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Just don't thank me for my service," he said stiffly as he stomped out his cigarette and took a few steps away, "This is a stupid habit. Anyway, that's enough personal questions. I need to go back downstairs. And you need to talk to your resident as soon as possible."

"I will. I'll head down soon."

"Good. If you need help during your shift tomorrow, come find me. Or ask Dr. Khan for me, he'll know where I am. But _only_ if you need me."

"You don't care to socialize between patients?" I teased in a final attempt to ease the remaining tension between us.

"No, I do not," he said firmly, though not unkindly.

I smiled, "Alright. Until tomorrow, then. And thank you."

He nodded as he replaced the surgical mask and turned to leave, "Until tomorrow."


	4. Fool's Game, Part 1

**Author's Note:** _Hello again to everyone, and welcome back to Hell! I say that because this chapter is **hella** long and comes with feels, because that's just how I roll. Before we start, I would like to take a moment to apologize for my long absence, and to sincerely thank everyone that has read, reviewed, followed, favorited, and had discussions with me about this piece and PotO in general and offered me unfailing support. Y'all are, as always, amazing and I love you! That said, once again this chapter is very long, and is a two-parter with an interlude (Friday) because of reasons. That said, please let me know how it's going, what y'all thought about the content and pacing and characterization - all that good stuff. I know there's a lot of setting up that needs to be done at this point in the process for this kind of an AU, but ultimately I just want to tell a good story and have it be one that's enjoyable and interesting. So drop a review and let me know what y'all think! Finally, the usual acknowledgements. First, some events of this chapter were inspired by and loosely based on various episodes of ER, and I was very happy to be able to apply that show's marvelous plot here and adapt it to the story it inspired. And last, the title for this chapter as well as its second part - to follow next Tuesday - is based on the Richard Marx song of the same name, which will be put into further context in part two. Welp, I believe that's all for now. Again, keep an eye out for that interlude I mentioned to be posted on (likely) Friday for this story. I'm trying out something stylistically that I hope will be well received. Other than that little note, just read, review, and enjoy! _

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Chapter 4 - Fool's Game, Part 1

Erik

I very nearly hadn't offered to help Christine. I had _considered_ it, to a small extent, had absentmindedly examined that passing notion off and on in the time it took me to make my way up to the roof to speak with her. But I hadn't reached that absolute and final decision until the very moment I actually _made_ the offer itself. Until that point, to truly do so seemed to carry far more implications than I was willing to consider then, and more than once I dismissed the idea as absurd and nothing more. But...then my thoughts would just come back to it again.

On its own, to actually give voice to the idea of tutoring her - however outwardly simple it seemed - was an abrupt thing, words spoken in a haste before I had time to lose my nerve and abandon the idea altogether. Because at the outset, I had absolutely no reason to make the offer to begin with - beyond the necessity of apologizing to her, I had no other obligation to this woman. She wasn't my student, and she wasn't my friend; I liked her in a very basic sense, but nothing more. Had she been anyone else - had the overall circumstances been different - I sincerely believe that I would never have gotten the idea in the first place. Yet she _was_ different - in the end, the fact of the matter was that there was something about her, something that compelled me to commit myself to however much time she might require from me in the coming weeks of her emergency room rotation.

But even so, I initially hadn't _planned_ to offer to help her in her education, just as I hadn't planned to make a direct apology in the first place. I wasn't lying to her when I said that I was originally only apologizing for Nadir's benefit. I simply wanted the matter to be properly resolved and forgotten for the sake of professionalism. But in the time it took me to get upstairs, I had the singularly fortunate opportunity to very seriously reconsider my position on what had happened between us. I _hated_ dealing with students, and her behavior at the scene of that car accident couldn't be easily dismissed, no matter its origins. Yet those factors were inconsequential then; when it came down it it, I had no choice but to properly acknowledge that I was in the wrong every bit as much as she was, though for vastly different reasons. But in the end, those reasons didn't matter any more than the preceding events of the day had - it was simply a relief when the entire situation was finally resolved.

And I _could_ have ended it there, I knew that. I could have easily just made amends and walked away, congratulating myself for maintaining a level head and having no true reason to consider what had happened again. Walking away would have been simple and justifiable - and maybe I should have done just that. I had no idea then what I was getting myself into, no way of knowing whether or not this student would ultimately prove to be more of a nuisance than was worth my time. On the surface, it was a gamble, and one that I could have avoided easily. But again, something compelled me to act otherwise.

She had challenged me, to begin with - that fact alone had made a significant argument in her favor. She had challenged me in her silent and almost endearing way - timid yet stubborn all the while - when we met again on the hospital's rooftop. I knew by the look in her eyes that she had dared me then to be foolhardy enough approach her again in anger. And in my own mingled stubbornness and admittedly deserved remorse, I had accepted each challenge in turn, equally as determined to prove her wrong. And in the span of just a second, I had chosen to return that challenge with one of my own, one meant to see just what kind of a person I was now dealing with. In being perfectly honest, I had taken off the mask when I arrived upstairs simply to see if she would stare again, wondering what kind of display she might make the second time around. A cynical part of me believed that I wouldn't be met with a favorable outcome - likely no better than the first - and I prepared myself for the inevitable bitterness and disappointment that past experiences taught me to expect. But...she _hadn't_ disappointed me. She had looked, of course - she had looked at me, and in some instances seemed to really see me as our conversation progressed - but she hadn't stared, not like before. And in turn I ultimately grew brave enough to offer her my undivided attention, uncomfortable though our initial encounter was.

But it was before that discussion, when as an afterthought I had gone to the surgical department to check on the patient from the car accident, that I made that first and crucial realization, gained the understanding that the student I had just met wasn't exactly ordinary - she was a fighter, knowledgeable and driven by instinct even in her inexperience. And I had almost missed that - during the trauma case and the heated aftermath, I nearly hadn't seen what was right in front of me. If I hadn't made the last-minute decision to check on the patient before finally going upstairs to Christine, I believe that I would have missed it entirely.

From the observation gallery above the OR, I had absently noted the condition of the patient below - intubated, completely under and without pain, she seemed to still be faring well in spite of her ordeal. And all at once, a flash of memory passed my mind's eye, flitting and gone in seconds but clear just the same. It was then that I remembered that Christine had intubated the woman in the first place herself, right out there in the field. It had been unsuccessful, but she had _tried_ \- she seemed to understand at least the basic mechanics of the procedure. She had obviously studied long before setting foot in the hospital, had paid attention during her schooling far more attentively than so many of her peers. Med students will, more often than not, enter their rotations with less-than rudimentary knowledge of medicine and absolutely no forethought of practical applications of necessary skills. But it appeared that Christine hadn't been that lax or complacent. If she had known enough to damn near successfully intubate a patient for the first time, completely unaided, then I strongly suspected that she possessed still more unseen skills. And I knew then that she had great potential.

So when I finally calmed down and thought past the setbacks and tension of the day, when I focused on what hadn't been so immediately clear, I realized that she had just...impressed me. I believe that was the crux of it - Christine Durant had very thoroughly _impressed_ me. A rarity, to be sure - doing so was no small feat for anyone, let alone a relative stranger with so little professional experience. But she _had_ impressed me, had effectively forged herself into her own corner of my mind in the relatively short amount of time we had spent together, and seemingly without even trying. That resonated within me deeply. There seemed to be a natural physician beneath the surface, a sort of fire within her that would draw out her inherent abilities - it was small at the moment, but even so it held great potential all the while.

She would be held back by her resident, though, and the thought was more troubling to me than it might have been otherwise. Christine might be taught the basics, but she would likely not be allowed to exercise her skills as she needed to. I was certain that she would miss opportunities to hone her instincts, to flex her independence and come into her own properly. Even with my unbridled stubbornness and need to absorb information, I had needed proper guidance at every turn when I was a student, and in the end it had served me well. Christine deserved that same level of guidance, the scrutiny that molds students into competent physicians - and moreover, she needed the right foundation of knowledge before she would be able to move on to her next rotations. Under proper guidance, she could _easily_ become a great physician, no matter her chosen specialty - but she was given an unfair disadvantage from the outset that might come to harm her overall success. She didn't deserve that.

As we continued to speak, the idea of tutoring her - of filling in as an advocate of her education where others might hinder her - settled in my mind; I could be that guidance, as needed. I didn't flatter myself by believing that I was the only competent physician in the department - I was conceited, but I understood the necessity for a well-rounded approach to education and the practice of medicine - but I wanted to lend my hand just the same. She could be a great physician, with the proper training - and all at once I knew that I wanted to be a part of that somehow. And so the idea formed, settled, and finally met the air - and to my surprise, she had actually accepted. And in the span of several moments, suddenly the time I had to spend in the emergency room had become far less daunting, made all the more palatable by the prospect of some outside project of sorts. Maybe that was wrong, but I was far past caring by that point. I wanted to do something more worthwhile with my time there than treating the same kind of misery day after day, to take my mind off of the very nearby and troubling realities of my work. I recognized a fair amount of selfishness on my part, but in the spirit of that selfishness, I welcomed the distraction. At the very least, I wouldn't be the only one benefitting from it.

By the time I left the rooftop and went back downstairs, I couldn't stop thinking about Christine Durant.

~~oOo~~

Christine

Once I had determined that I had successfully regained at least some small semblance of the composure I had possessed at the beginning of my shift, I hurried back down to the emergency room, determined to do as Erik said and speak with my superiors about the day's incident. When I was in the department once again, pointedly ignoring the usual chaos around me in favor of searching for the people I needed, I saw immediately that Dr. Khan had ushered Dr. McArt away from his duties. At the moment, the two of them were sequestered in another closed off suture room, likely to avoid the possibility of rumors spreading as they might have in a more public setting. They were clearly speaking to one another, though I strongly suspected that Dr. Khan was doing most of the talking then - I couldn't see Dr. McArt's face from where I stood, but his rigid posture told me that he was in the middle of being sternly lectured for his negligence. I knew that my presence there would be required soon enough, that my turn would follow, and I intended to make my presence known in order to fend off any more trouble on my part. But though I made my way determinedly toward the suture room's door, I didn't have the chance to actually step in before a hand on my shoulder directed my attention elsewhere. Turning, I was met with Raoul's concerned gaze as he led me several steps down the hall.

"What happened?" he asked quickly, getting right to the topic of his concern without making time for a greeting, "I heard you were up on the helicopter."

"I was," I said distractedly.

"You should've told me you were going."

"I didn't have a chance. McArt sent me straight up there."

He nodded before asking, "Was it bad? I heard you got yelled at over it. Are you alright?"

I half-smiled at his concern - it was so sincere, so very typical of him. Raoul Chaney and I had been through so much during our years together, and although we were no longer romantically involved, he was unwavering in offering his companionship all the while. And days like this, days that absolutely tested the limits of my patience and make me question my confidence time and time again, I could bring myself to actively remember and appreciate the unfailing camaraderie he offered. Even though we had both been in the city for quite some time, he had made far more friends than I had. I, on the other hand, was otherwise very alone among the few people that I barely considered acquaintances; and even then, those people were not attempting to go through medical school. Raoul understood firsthand what my chosen career meant to me, understood the singular brand of stress it inspired, and as such his friendship during that juncture of my education was priceless. It was because of this that I was grateful for his concern when I had just experienced a decidedly jarring day, even when I felt comparatively better than I had not even an hour before. My conversation with Erik was far more successful than I had ever anticipated it would be, but the day wasn't over just yet.

"I did get yelled at," I responded to Raoul after a time, deciding that there was no use in lying to him. I was sure that plenty of people were talking about it by then anyway, even as preventative measures were being taken to halt rumors. He might as well hear the truth straight from the source.

"Why, though?"

"Long story short, I wasn't supposed to be there."

"So you got in trouble?"

I shrugged, "More or less. It's complicated, but it's being resolved now. Actually, I need to go now and explain my side of things."

"That's ridiculous," he scoffed, unaware of my desire to leave the conversation as soon as possible as he continued, "It wasn't your fault."

"I know - "

" - You should complain. About getting yelled at, I mean."

I shook my head, "It's not necessary."

"It is. It was Dr. Riley, right? Everyone says he has a bad temper."

I laughed, "Oh, he does."

"But just because he's your superior doesn't mean he can treat you that way."

"It's not an issue," I insisted, "He apologized. It's all cleared up now. I'm just waiting for the next step, I need to talk to Dr. Khan."

He sighed, "Alright. Well, hopefully you won't have to see too much of Riley from now on."

"He's not so bad," I shrugged, "He offered to help me if my resident isn't available."

"Did you accept?" he asked warily.

"Yes, actually."

He considered his words before saying, "Just be careful around him."

I rolled my eyes, "Fine. I don't think it's necessary to be _careful_ , but I will if it makes you feel better."

He opened his mouth to speak again, but was cut off as Dr. Khan found me, gesturing for me to follow him. I gave Raoul a thin smile as I did as requested.

In the end, Dr. McArt _had_ received disciplinary action for his severe lapse in judgment. It seemed to me that his punishment really entailed a slap on the wrist and no more, but I was in no position to question the decision of the emergency department's chief, nor anyone else involved in that decision-making process, for that matter. So I simply accepted the results and let the issue lie - what happened had happened, and there was no changing anything that had occurred that day. We were simply advised to learn from our mistakes and to exercise _far_ better judgement in the future. The outcome could have been worse, and I was grateful for the relatively simple conclusion to an event that I had been so sure would end my career before it even began.

As it stood, I was still assigned to Dr. McArt for the remainder of my rotation. I was disappointed even as I had expected as much, remembering the warning that the education I received from him would be lacking at best. Erik had been correct - Dr. McArt seemed to genuinely dislike the idea of having a student, and had no patience for one at any rate. I was a burden to him; he had made _that_ abundantly clear upon our first meeting, assigning me to the scut work that kept me running back and forth between departments in order to run his errands, and nothing else. After speaking with Dr. Khan, Dr. McArt's attitude hadn't improved whatsoever. If he blamed me for his reprimand, he didn't outright say it - but he made his displeasure with me unmistakably known just the same. Except for the car accident, I saw no true emergency cases for the remainder of that day. I couldn't say that I was surprised, but I was rendered very nervous by what that unspoken form of punishment might mean to my emergency department rotation. He was meant to teach me and evaluate me on my work, but little to no _work_ was actually being done, and I didn't know how long I would have to wait for another opportunity to learn beside him as I should have. I was incredibly distressed over the continued implications to my education and my career, and had to actively remind myself that I at least had an ally in Erik.

If Dr. McArt chose to continue regarding my education with indifference, then it was my hope that Erik's help would be enough for me to get through my first rotation and onto the next one. Reminding myself that he had made his offer for just that reason was comforting, at any rate; with that thought in mind I was able to convince myself to hold my head high for the remainder of my shift, and hope that the next one would prove to be more successful.

~~oOo~~

The following day, I arrived to the hospital rather earlier than intended, and as such I chose to stop only long enough to get coffee from the vendor that settled himself just outside of the ambulance entrance each morning. Adamantly reminding myself of my determination to have a better day this shift, I felt vastly more confident in myself than I had the previous day. I had spent a large portion of my evening ruminating on the day's events, even as I knew that doing so wasn't a worthwhile way to spend my time - and moreover, that the day hadn't ended in disaster. I was simply worrying myself over nothing, and upon realizing that I finally decided to let the issue lie once and for all. Everyone else involved seemed to have done so, and I knew that I would be wise to follow suit. And so, remembering my confidence and ready to start my day, I made my purchase and turned just in time to see Erik rounding the corner toward the emergency room's main entrance.

In fitting together pieces of information that I had gathered from the other med students in general conversations about the physicians - their temperaments, their backgrounds, any detail that might explain a resident's quirk or an attending's particular habit - I felt ready to work among each of them from that point on. However, people had little to say about Erik - he kept to himself, that much I knew. But it was agreed upon that he was formidable, quick to anger, yet efficient and skilled beyond measure. In some circles he was disliked, even hated - while in others he was respected but still shown the same distance he conveyed. A part of me was proud that he had chosen to work so closely with me, and simply for the sake of my education. He could have chosen anyone else, had he been inclined to. Feeling decidedly more bold than was usual of me when considering this, I called after him, walking toward him swiftly and being mindful not to jostle the hot coffee I held all the while.

"You're here early," he said simply at my approach, seeming satisfied by the fact as he indicated for me to follow him into the building.

We walked toward the doctor's lounge in a companionable silence. The day had just barely started by then - it was only just past seven, and the halls and waiting areas were relatively silent, to the point of being almost eerie with their emptiness. But I had been advised upon my arrival not to make mention of the silence under any circumstances - it was said that doing so would effectively end the peace and replace it with mounting chaos. And so I kept my reflections to myself, opting instead to enjoy the subdued atmosphere of the ER while it lasted.

Once Erik and I got to the lounge, we each went to our respective lockers to stow our possessions for the day - a very mundane ritual, it seemed, and I laughed inwardly at sharing the task with him. He could be terrifying when he wanted to, I knew that well enough - but apparently, he could be calm as well, once again reflecting the manner he displayed when I had first met him waiting for the helicopter to arrive. But like the quiet of the department beyond the lounge's door, I was certain that Erik's demeanor largely depended upon the circumstances surrounding him - I had seen the evidence of that fact for myself just yesterday - and once again I chose to keep my thoughts to myself. I decided then that it was wiser to simply observe him instead. I could just see into his locker from where I stood, noting distantly the stark absence of personal affects on display. The other doctors - namely the residents and attendings that were regular fixtures within the department - tended to personalize their space as much as possible, often with pictures and trinkets from home, little sparks of their personalities showing here and there as a means to fend off the stress of their respective positions. But Erik's locker had none of those kinds of items. I knew he had recently been transferred from the surgical service upstairs, but even so, this small and irrelevant fact was strange to me - almost sad. It was another key point of his personality that I was sure was very private, something I would not know the answer to, and by then I knew better than to ask. Instead, I waited for him to don his lab coat and approach me again.

"I've been thinking about how this arrangement of ours would work," he said, almost thoughtfully, "I work three consecutive days, three off, then on again. So, there are times when I won't be here when you are, but I want to be able to help you as much as possible."

"Alright," I said, prompting him to continue.

"Besides coming to me directly if you get hung up somewhere, I think you and I should meet at the end of the shifts we work together, and maybe after my days off so we can catch up. I want to go over the cases you get, deconstruct them and see what can be learned, point by point. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Yes, absolutely," I said eagerly.

He nodded, "Good. In the meantime, I guess you're just waiting for your resident to show up, right?"

"Unfortunately," I said, rolling my eyes at the thought of spending time with Dr. McArt.

"Has anyone talked that over with you?"

"Dr. Khan spoke to McArt and I together, and I'm upset with the outcome. Not with Dr. Khan," I added hastily, "Just the situation. I don't know what I _wanted_ to happen, exactly, but I was disappointed when I didn't get set up with someone else."

Erik shrugged, "He probably just hasn't fucked up badly enough yet to warrant anything worse. Unfortunately for you, as long as he's in good standing with this hospital and the university, he'll be seen as a competent enough instructor. For now, just try to stay on his good side when you're with him, and stay out of his way otherwise. You need to focus on _your_ career, not his."

"I think I can do that."

"You will," he said firmly, pausing as his pager went off. He checked it, sighing before he continued, "Come with me for now. I need to find my keeper."

"Your what?"

"Dr. Khan."

"Right," I said, laughing at the informal manner with which he regarded his superior. He had said that the two of them were friends, but even so I hadn't expected any sort of levity from him, the kind of good-natured ribbing that I had shared with so many of my own friends before.

We left the doctor's lounge, seeming at first to be heading toward the admit desk, but almost immediately Erik was pulled aside by a nurse. And so, we walked instead toward one of the exam areas as the nurse explained that the patient there had been waiting for a surgical consultation from upstairs, and that the surgeon had yet to arrive in spite of numerous attempts at contact. Erik muttered a sarcastic comment toward that surgeon, but accepted the patient's chart when offered. He looked it over, examined the patient with all the expertise of years of experience, all the while briefly explaining to me each step of the process. To my own credit and immense pride, I recognized many aspects of what was happening, but had never seen the practical applications in person. As a student, it was exciting to have the opportunity to do so then. I listened intently, absolutely transfixed and hoping that all of our encounters would go as smoothly as this one. At the end of the process, Erik ultimately determined that the patient _was_ a candidate for surgery, and relayed as much to the nurse.

"Call them down here again," he said to her as we three lingered in the doorway, "And make sure they don't drag their asses this time."

He and the nurse continued speaking, but by then my attention began to wander, taking in my surroundings until my gaze happened to fall on a gurney sidled up to the wall, its mattress piled high with blankets. I thought it was strange; it seemed out of place in the otherwise cleared out section of the department. I wondered if I should move it at least a little further down the hall, just for the sake of being out of the way, and I approached it with just that idea in mind. But upon further inspection, I realized that what I had first assumed to be fabric stacked carelessly in bundles was in fact in the shape of a body. My curiosity thoroughly piqued by that point, I pulled the blanket away - only to be met by an extremely pale and cold elderly gentleman, and I immediately jumped several steps back from the gurney. More shocked than afraid, I quickly walked back to Erik, falling in step with him as he started to leave, seemingly oblivious to my distressful discovery.

"Is that man dead?" I asked, my voice taking on a higher, less confident quality than I would have preferred.

He looked back to confirm before he spoke, "So he is."

"A patient died here."

"They do that sometimes."

"I know, but...they just left him in the hall?" I asked incredulously, appalled by the thought.

"Until someone from the morgue comes for him, yes. You shouldn't yell about all of that here, though. It freaks out the other patients," he said. And although his surgical mask was firmly in place, I suspected that he wore a sly smile beneath it as he spoke before he turned from me, his attention suddenly pulled elsewhere, "Nadir! You paged me and disappeared. What did you want?"

" _I_ disappeared?" Dr. Khan asked dubiously, "I needed a chart from yesterday, but it can wait," he said, seeming to have just run from another part of the department and breathless as he spoke, "We'll talk about it later. I still need you now though, EMTs are bringing in a trauma."

"Alright," Erik nodded, then turned to me again, "Go see if your resident is here yet and bring him to us if he is. That way you can observe."

I nodded and set off, eager to be able to be involved with another major case, this time without the pressure and fear that was presented to me the day before.

Following that day, the rest of my first week proved to be largely uneventful - much to my dismay. Of course, I hadn't expected much freedom as a student from the outset, but I had hoped for far more experience than I had been given thus far. But I soon realized that it was a matter of waiting, of paying my dues as all of my peers were alongside me, and with that knowledge I resigned myself to the wait in store. I would learn everything I needed to - all in its time. When Erik had his days off, I made it a point to simply stay out of trouble, and was relatively successful in doing so. Dr. McArt continued to regard me apathetically, and not for the first time I resented his seemingly deliberate stalling of my education. But in remembering to think realistically, I was able to bite back my resentment in favor of studiousness and patience. When Erik returned after his three days away, it was a substantial relief to me. As decided, we met at the appointed time at the end of the work day to discuss notable happenings throughout that day as well as his absence, diligently catching up on the time we had missed; I knew that I was learning a lot in the process. And moreover, I knew that I was steadily retaining what I had learned, more so than simply reading the information from my textbooks or listening to past in-class lectures. Erik's method of reviewing was proving to be just as valuable as active practice, gave me real-world context for what I was learning, and as that first week round to its close I began to look forward to those invaluable discussions.

From the outset of our working relationship, I did not harbor any illusions that Erik and I were suddenly the best of friends - but it was immediately clear that he and I worked exceedingly well together just the same. Always wearing that sterile mask, it was nearly impossible to see his entire face - yet what was continuously surprising to me were his eyes. At first, I had been frustrated that they were the only part of his face that I could clearly see. But once I learned to read them, I didn't mind the presence of the mask nearly as much. His eyes - intelligent, bright eyes - were immeasurably expressive, and spoke volumes of the thoughts and emotions he seemed to refuse to betray with his words or actions. During the trauma cases in which Erik was paired with myself and Dr. McArt - on the steadily increasing amount of occasions wherein I was _allowed_ to participate - I observed that Erik moved with quick ease and precision, yet distantly so all the while. And when we were alone, when he was still subdued and seemed to hold himself back, more often than not I had to concentrate on his eyes to gauge the mood between us. Did they flash in anger or beam with pride? Was he laughing good-naturedly or with thinly veiled sarcasm? Over time, it became easier to tell as I learned to read his eyes, and as that familiarity grew, likewise had our rapport seemed to as well.

He was, first and foremost, an exacting instructor, requiring correct answers or thorough clarifying questions before allowing me to move on to another topic of importance. He never claimed to expect perfection on a first try to any given case or line of questioning, but he made it clear that he _did_ expect hard work on my part regardless of whatever situation was at hand. _I already know the answers_ , he had said at one point, _It's your job to learn all of this now_. He was stern and serious, but never unkind to me. And in return, I applied myself as he asked, grateful once again that he had offered his help in the first place. When initially considering his offer to tutor me, I knew without a doubt that what he taught me could only serve to strengthen the foundation of the knowledge I would require throughout my education, and as time went on that notion was proven correct time and time again. It wasn't long before my efforts were noticed by the other physicians within the department, and I was acknowledge positively and accordingly. And when I took the time to remind myself to continue to maintain my confidence - even on days when I felt too overwhelmed to do so - I could allow myself to feel a singular sense of pride even in the seemingly inconsequential accomplishments that Erik helped me to reach. My time with him was quickly becoming one of my more favored aspects of this rotation.

The time eventually came, at the beginning of my third week of shifts, that Dr. McArt finally allowed me to interact more closely with his patients, at once assigning me to start an IV on one of them. A simple enough procedure - nevermind one that I should have mastered long before that point - but even so I was excited to be trusted with the task, confident that my hours practicing in the skills lab and on pig's feet were finally being put to good use. It was a successful stick initially, and as such Dr. McArt felt safe enough to leave me alone with the patient when he left for a consultation on a separate case. But before long, the IV infiltrated, allowing the fluid to flow where it did not belong and thus rendering the procedure useless. Dr. McArt, frustrated that I had interrupted him, snapped that I needed to try again and left it at that. And it _had_ been my intention to do so, but after another unsuccessful attempt and fearing that the patient would only grow more distressed by my outward incompetence should I continue on my own, I felt that I needed more guidance. The nurse had been called from the room for the time being, Dr. McArt had briefly reverted back to his indifferent attitude, and the patient was growing still more panicky. In the end, it became another occasion in which I had to find Erik in order to correct the issue. And not for the first time, I was grateful for his accessibility.

True to form, he accepted the request readily, and in the end it was as simple of a procedure as it should have been from the start. He walked me through the process succinctly, though not impatiently, standing beside me in his official capacity as a teacher observes and guides a student.

"Did you get a flash?" he asked as I neared the finishing steps.

I narrowed my eyes, attempting to look more closely at my work, "I'm not sure."

Moving closer to me as he looked, he nodded, "You did it. Just finish up and keep an eye on it. Good work."

Confident in another successful procedure, he left the room and went about his business elsewhere, and I did the same in tending to my current patient - feeling quite satisfied with myself as I did so.

Later that week, the emergency room was especially busy, rendered almost unprepared by a multi-vehicle accident that required the attention of every physician, resident, and student in attendance. By that point in my rotation, I had become aware of just how demanding it was to be a doctor, especially one working in an urban trauma center. More often than not, I felt exhausted and overwhelmed by the necessary work involved, but I consistently held my own well enough - owing a fair amount of that success to the guidance I was receiving. I had earned the reputation of being a competent and useful student, and as such I was asked to assist with still more trauma cases as time went by. On the occasion of that accident, Dr. McArt had asked me to work alongside him, Erik, and a few of the other senior physicians on-call. I agreed eagerly. The patient we were working on required all hands available, and at one point he had needed to be intubated. I hadn't had the chance to attempt the procedure again since the first time, that day when I was mistakenly sent on the helicopter. And though the event was still fresh in my mind, it had somehow seemed a lifetime away by that point, namely, the fact that I hadn't been successful in my efforts; for the first time that day, I hesitated for a moment when asked to try the procedure again on my own. But to my surprise, in the midst of the controlled chaos of the room, Dr. McArt and Erik both agreed that it was time for me to try again, and it was Erik that offered to walk me through the process.

"Hold your breath," he said, coming to stand beside me as I held the equipment in my hands, "If you don't have the tube in by the time you run out of air, step aside and let me do it."

"Alright…" I said as I began my work, mindful of the precision necessary for success as I called the exact steps of the process from my memory.

"Visualize the...yes, that's right," he murmured, "You'll feel it more than you'll see it...feel for the clicks. Good...good, keep going. Don't rock back on the scope, you'll break his teeth."

I did as he said, then pulled back to examine my work as I asked, "Did I get it?"

"Check. What do you hear?"

I did so, listening for the telltale evidence of proper lung function through my stethoscope, "I hear...breath sounds?"

"That's breath sounds," he said after confirming for himself, "You did it."

I smiled, feeling especially confident even at the simple praise. Somehow, the words meant more coming from him than they might have from Dr. McArt. Perhaps, simply because Erik was genuine with his consideration. Not for the first time, I found it almost amusing that the man I had met entirely by accident had become one of my strongest instructors - that there was once a point, however brief, when I was determined to hate him. I was glad that hatred never had a chance to settle between us. But regardless of the painful, awkward, and abrupt origins of our working relationship, the current dynamic we had forged seemed to continue to work well for us. And distantly, I realized that I almost regretted that my emergency room rotation was almost halfway over. I didn't think I would have quite the same experience elsewhere.

~~oOo~~

At the beginning of my fourth week, I caught sight of Erik while I was having lunch with Raoul in the cafeteria. It was a slow day, and I wasn't surprised to see Erik there with Dr. Khan - he only ever seemed to venture there when few others were around. Sighing contentedly and thoroughly enjoying the rare treat of sitting down to lunch, I absentmindedly reflected upon the goings-on of the room, noting some of the doctors and nurses there that I had gotten to know during my time working in the hospital - some I liked, others I regarded with indifference. I looked again at Dr. Khan. I liked _him_ very much, and I had from the time I first met him when I had taken my tour of the emergency department with the other students - he was very much the kind of doctor I aspired to be when my time came to practice medicine on my own. On the few occasions that I had been able to work alongside him, he struck me as one very much in control of whatever situation was presented to him, working with an air of stoicism and precision; to me, he was rather like a stern yet loving father, overseeing those in his charge with a fondness that seemed to accompany excellent leadership. In fact, in that regard he reminded me very much of my own father, and that fact alone endeared him to me from the start. I smiled and waved at him, and he returned the gesture easily; his doing so alerted Erik to my presence and he, in turn, nodded in acknowledgment of me before returning to his conversation with Dr. Khan.

"You really like working with him?" Raoul asked, nodding towards Erik.

"I do, actually," I said confidently, hoping that he would let the issue lie. He had made it no secret that he still didn't think very highly of Erik, and it had slowly driven a wedge between us in the preceding weeks that bothered me immensely. But, between working in the hospital and studying every chance I had at home, neither of us had truly had an opportunity to discuss the matter in-depth, and as a result whenever the topic inevitably arose, it was met only with tension from the both of us.

"I don't know why," he continued, "He seems...I don't know, unprofessional. There's something I don't like about him."

I shrugged, "You just don't know him."

"You don't think his showing preferential treatment to you is an issue?"

I forced a half-smile, hoping to skirt the issue for the time being with a bit of levity, "Are you jealous?"

He rolled his eyes, "No, I just don't think it's right. I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to worry. I'm not being mistreated, if that's what you're getting at, and I'm not getting any more opportunities than anyone else here. You know, you'd get just the same standard of education if you studied like I do. And even if you didn't, you have a resident that's willing to help you. Mine doesn't, so I have outside help."

"I don't like him," he repeated stubbornly.

"Well, I do," I said firmly, "He's a good teacher."

I pointedly redirected the conversation after that; there didn't seem to be any way of convincing Raoul to think otherwise at that point, and I simply didn't have the energy to try.

I wasn't quite ready to let him know then, but in truth I felt lucky to have met Erik - in spite of our less-than successful first meeting, as the weeks went by I recognized a certain kinship between the two of us that was developing over the time we spent together. It still wasn't quite _friendship_ , but there was a measure of respect present for both parties, and I was content to continue on spending time with him in that capacity. He was as incredibly intelligent as I had first perceived, as equally reserved in his mannerisms as I had known him to be; over time I knew that in spite of his temper, he was a far better person than I think he was willing to present to the rest of the world. In reality, he was compassionate, even as he seemed to want to hide it, his approach to each patient changing to meet the necessities of each individual case. There were times that I wished we had actually become friends rather than colleagues, rather than just a med student and a physician paired together by unforeseen events. Not for the first time, I knew that he could have spoken for hours about the stories behind his scars, or his approach to medicine, or about everything that molded him into the man before me. In truth, I was very fascinated by him - if we were friends, I could have known everything.

But even acknowledging our mutual respect for one another and the considerable success of our working relationship, he continued to hold me at arm's length, allowing our roles as amiable colleagues but never crossing the line into actual friendship - especially on days when he was particularly upset. And, I noted, those occasions had steadily increased during the time I knew him. I had no idea why, what specifically had affected him so badly, and I suspected with no small amount of regret that I likely never _would_ know. It seemed only that the more he interacted with the patients that were the victims of exceptionally violent traumas, the worse he felt in turn. I knew that every doctor handled the emotional effects of their work differently, but I wanted very much to ask Erik about _his_ take on the matter, what exactly contributed to his own sense of disquietude; but I always thought better of it. At first, I was admittedly hurt by his continued distance, especially regarding the personal side of medicine; but I quickly learned not to take that distance personally. He was, after all, that way with everyone.

And so, for the time being, I was content to simply share in his knowledge and company. Whatever the source of unease was for Raoul, I didn't agree with it. And I had no intention of defending my reasons to him regardless.

~~oOo~~

In learning his habits, I hadn't had a true conflict with Erik until the fifth week of my rotation. Like so many before, it was an occasion that I will never forget. It seemed that everything was destined to go wrong from the start, and as the day progressed, I had no idea how to handle myself appropriately at each turn. My confidence was rattled, but I determined not to let it affect the way I chose to proceed. However, I learned too late that my determination was only thinly veiled stubbornness and a misplaced sense of mercy, and I nearly made a severe mistake as a result.

Dr. McArt had assigned me to a patient early in the day - a man that, at first glance, appeared to be an easy case, a terminally ill patient that presented with pneumonia. I knew how to treat his illness well enough, and assumed that I would not need much guidance from my resident, that I wouldn't even have to bother Erik for assistance. But I was quickly informed that the patient had a Do Not Resuscitate order, and I was instructed to respond accordingly. The patient, as it turned out, did _not_ want his pneumonia treated - he preferred to allow it to be the cause of his death, and he was adamant on that point and that point alone. He wanted to be kept comfortable, knowing all the while that he was going to die before the end of the day. But I couldn't allow that. He was treatable - his illness was a complication of his condition, but certainly not _fatal_. And there was absolutely no reason that it had to be. To me, it didn't make sense to allow it to progress, seemed irresponsible and even cold by nature. We were, after all, there in order to help him, and as physicians had ample knowledge and resources to do so.

But when I went to Dr. McArt with my concerns, he outright dismissed me, telling me to stay with the man and do nothing else, not to call for help when the patient would otherwise have required life-saving measures to be taken. Rather, I was supposed to ask for Dr. McArt himself to ensure that the patient was made comfortable in his final moments - nothing else. But still, I could not accept that. Selfishly, doing so felt like a defeat, a black mark on my record as a student; and moreover, once again I was aware of the very preventable nature of the patient's death. He had no family, no friends by his side, and so I took it upon myself to find a way to convince him to take what I considered a more logical course of action. He outright refused, but I was still unwilling to give up so easily.

Erik, already overloaded with varying trauma cases that had taken up his time and attention, had been just as dismissive when I approached him - almost uncharacteristically so - saying only that I needed to respect the patient's wishes and leave it at that. It was one of the first times that he hadn't offered further guidance, and I was immensely confused by the fact that he hadn't been willing to do more for the patient, hadn't been willing to work with me then as he had always done before. I had grown more than familiar with his temper by then, of course - especially when he faced unfavorable circumstances - but I had seen the other side of that temper firsthand, had witnessed his reserved yet easy manner during our conversations and the key points of medicine he helped me learn. As such, there were times that I had to wonder how much of his anger was a lie, a performance meant to maintain his distance from his colleagues at large. He had been so different before the helicopter, later on the roof, any time he guided me through procedures and techniques, and I expected that same level of easiness between us as we communicated about my pneumonia patient. It was an absolute shock to me then that Erik had reacted so badly.

Raoul, as it turned out, was the only one on my side.

We made our appeals to Dr. McArt once again, and were unsurprisingly met with the same dismissal that I had been given before. Fearing that we were out of resources once again, we attempted to make one final appeal to Erik together, finding him in the middle of another trauma case. By then, he very clearly seemed agitated - and too late I realized that he was working on a patient that had been shot. It was just the kind of case that always set him on edge, and logically I knew that confronting him to the point of nagging wouldn't get me anywhere. But my own patient was dying, and nothing I said to the man or any of my superiors was making a difference for his outcome. I wanted him to live just a bit longer - I wanted so badly just to _help_ him somehow - and I was becoming almost desperate in my approach. I was sure that, if I made a strong enough case, Erik might be compelled to change his mind and help me, perhaps speak to my patient himself and use his years of experience in my favor.

"Can you two see that I'm trying to put a tube in this man's chest before he suffocates?" Erik snapped when Raoul and I attempted to get his attention, each of us distantly aware of the annoyance of the other doctors and nurses in the room as Erik continued, "Since I already know _your_ patient isn't critical, you can wait. Go outside until I send mine to surgery."

Sighing, we did so. The wait seemed endless, as if the ticking of the clock was mocking us and everything we were attempting to learn about the practice of medicine. After some time, I saw Erik's patient being taken to the elevators and up to surgery. Offering the man a silent wish for a favorable outcome, I turned my attention to Erik again.

"I still don't see the issue," he said before either of us had a chance to speak, "The man has a DNR, all you need to do is keep him comfortable until he kicks off."

"He's _treatable_ , Erik," I insisted, flinching at his crass words, "He could go home as early as tomorrow."

"I don't think that's what he had in mind."

"But what if he's not thinking clearly?" I pressed, "What if this is a mistake?"

"Well, he was obviously thinking clearly when he got the DNR. He knew this could happen. He'll just suffer in the end if you don't let him go out this way."

"I could still intubate him," Raoul said stubbornly.

"No, you can't," Erik responded, eyeing Raoul distastefully, "You do realize that doing so would be _assault_ , don't you?"

"But - "

"Were you assigned to this case?"

"No..."

"Then go back to wherever you came from."

"But I agree with Christine," Raoul ventured, "I don't think this patient should be allowed to go untreated."

"And I outrank you," Erik snapped, "So listen to me when I tell you to _leave_."

"No," Raoul began again, I'm not leaving - "

Ignoring this and rolling his eyes, Erik seemed ready to step aside and move elsewhere, effectively leaving us to do as we were told and let the situation end there. But Raoul and I remained desperate, stubbornly holding our ground as we began to argue our case again - ultimately ineffectively, our voices mingling with and being drowned out by the surrounding chaos that painted the emergency room.

" - Erik, just listen -

" - I'm _not_ leaving her alone. You need to listen, Dr. Riley - "

" - Raoul, wait, I can handle this. Just let me talk to - "

" - Fine, but - "

" - No, wait. Erik, let me show you the chart again - "

" - If he would stop being stubborn and _listen_ to us - "

" - Raoul, calm down, that won't help - "

"Y'all _both_ need to stop talking," Erik snapped, only to lose his patience again when Raoul attempted to continue, now shouting, "I said _stop talking_." And I saw him then for what he once was - the physician, the soldier, always immovable and imposing, and I couldn't help but listen as he lowered his voice and spoke again, "Follow me."

Attempting to break the tension so that we could plead our case again more calmly, I began softly, "Erik - "

"That was _not_ a request," he interrupted, leaving no room for argument.

He led us away from where we stood, from the crowded hallways and into one of the suture rooms, intentionally choosing the one from which we had a clear view of several of the other patients at various stages of treatment in the department.

Seeming to force his voice to remain even, Erik spoke again, "Look around, both of you. That man," he pointed, "is here because his girlfriend beat the living hell out of him. He hasn't regained consciousness since the EMTs brought him in. And that woman," he pointed again, "is here because her husband stabbed her. We've _barely_ been able to keep up with the blood-loss. That man was shot in a robbery. That kid was in a car accident with his parents and he was absolutely _mangled_ , all because of a drunk driver. All of them, _every last one of them_ , are in pain. They're suffering. And most of them probably won't live until the end of your shifts," he turned to face us directly, "They're going to die horrible, _painful_ deaths. But _your_ patient wants to go in peace, and he's lucky enough to have the opportunity to do so. Give him that dignity. There are _far_ worse ways to die."

Raoul and I were silent for a time, allowing the gravity of Erik's words to settle in our overwrought minds. But even after everything he had said, I was still having trouble coming to terms with the potential of losing my own patient. His death was different than the ones the other patients faced. It was _preventable_ \- that was all that seemed to matter to me then.

Erik continued, "Go stay with your patient, comfort him until you need someone to bring the meds he'll need."

"That's a nurse's job," Raoul muttered, almost childishly.

"Tough shit," Erik snapped, "Today, it's _your_ job. You wanted to work on this case, Chaney. So congratulations, now you are. Stay with him," then to me, "You, too. Then find me when it's over."

When it was all said and done, I did as I was told, resistant to do so all the while but having been offered no other choice in the end. I resented it, but forced myself not to let that resentment show as I settled in at my patient's bedside. And at that point, I just waited...waited for what seemed like an eternity, pushing away the memories of my father's death, of sitting beside him all those years ago and praying for more time - time that my patient now seemed to value so little. But I stayed with him regardless and just waited. And when it was done, I had to fight back the tears at what I wholly considered to be an unfair and unnecessary situation. I could respect a DNR, had expected to encounter them countless times in the course of my career. But the circumstances surrounding this one were more than I could handle, were more difficult than I expected, and I left the room and the overall situation feeling defeated and shaken.

Erik was in the on-call room by the time I sought him out, holed up in that abandoned exam room-turned suite of sorts for residents and other staff members working long hours to find quiet and rest when the opportunity arose. He was hunched over the small desk in the corner - a lamp on its surface proving to be the only illumination in the room, making the environment appear eerie and unwelcoming - as he worked on what appeared to be patients' charts that required his attention from the exceptionally hectic day.

I approached him hesitantly, feeling shy and awkward, "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"He's gone. He died."

He nodded, "It's for the best."

"No, it isn't," I insisted, "He still had a chance. I can't understand not wanting to convince him to wait. When my dad was dying - "

" - Your father died?"

"Yes, almost ten years ago…"

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "But you need to understand that the man you met today _wasn't_ your dad, Christine. You need to learn not to let cases like this affect you so badly. You almost made a serious error in judgment because of it."

"What else was I supposed to do?"

"Listen to your patient," he said, pausing and considering his words before he spoke again, "As a doctor, you're the patient's best advocate, and sometimes you're their _only_ advocate. But sometimes, you have to learn when to say enough is enough."

"How?"

"Time. Experience," he shrugged, "Every case is different. I'm sorry you had to learn that this way."

Unwilling to respond to his words, his logic, I snapped, "This really doesn't _bother_ you?"

"People die. That's medicine."

"How can you be so cold? Do you even remember his _name_?"

He bristled at that, his eyes flashing above the mask, "I _do_ , actually."

"Really? Because it seems like you don't care, like all of your patients are just bodies in a room, passing things."

"Some _are_ , though. That's just the way of it. Some people come in here, get fixed up, and we never see them again," he said, "But there are others that stick with you, did you know that? You'll get them, too. Just like today. Some people that are so bad off that you'll never forget their names, their faces, what happened to them - "

" - Erik - "

" - And they'll stay with you forever, believe me. So _don't_ try to imply that I don't care."

I didn't respond immediately, almost fearing the answer before I summoned the courage to ask, "Is that what it is to be a doctor?"

"That's part of it."

"It...almost seems like a losing game. Why do you do it?"

He sighed, "You know what? Sometimes I don't know."

"Why did you want to be a doctor in the first place?"

"That's personal," he snapped, and I realized once again just how little I knew about him, that aside from the few pieces of personal information I had gathered on the roof all those weeks ago, we had never truly held a conversation that wasn't about work, or medicine, or patients.

We weren't friends - but in those moments, I had very much wanted to be. I noted Erik's discomfort, and I could only regard him with sympathy even as I suffered for my own part. When I considered the event later, I realized that it was another rare glimpse into Erik's mind, into the way he viewed the world, but a glimpse for which I had very little context. I remembered how much he disliked interacting with the more tragic patients, yet all the while maintained a steady and compassionate demeanor for their sakes. I filed away that knowledge once again, reminding myself of the complexity of his character, knowing that I would likely have to keep it in mind for future instances. Once again, his eyes told me more than his words, told me just how burdened he was, and likely all because of his work. But there seemed to be no way that I could reach out to him. And with that, my anger faded. I couldn't consider him to be cold when he had so many years of experiences seeming to work against him in those moments. And so, I simply maintained my silence, deciding then that there was far more to him than he was willing to tell me. Our work wasn't easy - Erik was more than enough evidence of that. It had been a particularly bad day; I needed to be mindful of that and learn from my mistakes. And we needed to move on from it then and hope to come out the other side stronger for our efforts. There was nothing else we could do.

"I'm sorry," I said, and left the room before he could respond - if he planned to at all.

~~oOo~~

Erik

During med school interviews, every candidate is asked the same question: _Why do you want to become a doctor?_ And the answer is always the same, often with little variation: _To help people -_ even mine had been some manifestation of that sentiment, because responding with _because I'm likely just a sadist with far too much time on my hands_ didn't seem appropriate for my purposes. Nadir had once told me how monotonous the response could get, after having to interview so many potential candidates for admission - but the answer, by nature, wasn't surprising in itself. It was almost expected. It's an oversimplification, of course, if not an outright lie for some. But answered just the right way will guarantee a place in the medical school of one's choosing, the ultimate goal realized after countless hours of planning and dreading and considering alternate plans in the face of rejection. Whether or not a candidate employs a certain amount of finesse in their responses is irrelevant - so long as they worked hard in the end.

Christine Durant, however, hadn't lied or embellished her response when she was asked that question - of that, I was entirely certain. If I could say anything after so many weeks - so many _hours_ \- spent in her company with absolute certainty, beyond my confidence in her eventual success, it was that she genuinely wanted to help people. I wished that every student that had been assigned to me in the past had been like her. She was an absolute treasure to witness in her path to education - a highly dedicated professional that I was now more assured than ever would go far in her career, if only she would take that final leap and allow herself to separate her emotions from her work. But that level of professional detachment would come and develop to her personality in time, I was sure. Everyone does it differently - it seemed that I was the only one that had never quite mastered that aspect of being a doctor. But as she continued to hone and practice her skills, I was reminded ever further that her efforts were always sincere, that her inspiration to chose to practice medicine came from a heart that held the entire world within its walls. Had I known more students - more doctors, for that matter - like her, I might not have become so unwilling to work with others over the years. In the end, I was very proud of her.

But as Christine thrived, I felt myself undeniably falling - falling away from myself, away from the carefully constructed order I had forced into my life.

Distantly at first, I steadily felt myself losing the motivation I had recaptured not so long ago, on the day I had resigned myself to take my transfer to the emergency department and all it entailed in stride. As it turned out, I had approached it all with foolish complacency. The chaos and uncertainty inherent to every emergency room wasn't necessarily what began to weigh so heavily on my thoughts at the end of each shift - not in the beginning. Rather, it was the prevalent notion of the underlying futility to it all, the constant reminder that people _just suck_ to bring forth so much madness, that each of their terrified victims that passed through the doors was going through absolute hell, and all any of us could do for their sake was to patch them together and hope for the best. And worse, I had to bear witness to it all once again. Where in the surgical department they were all but anonymous, in the ER I knew their names, their stories - I had to look into their eyes as they screamed, cried out for help, and potentially lie to them and tell them that everything would be alright, _just stay calm and it will be alright_...And more and more each day, as the weeks slowly passed, I unwillingly hung on to those images, long after I returned home and during the endless hours at night when I _just can't sleep_. Not well, and not anymore. And that alone makes it all that much more difficult to face over and over again.

Because on paper, I'm a genius. But very few people knew that about me; what had undeniably driven me to success - with music and my career, with countless other endeavors forgotten over time - some had considered an impressive trait, but I regarded it as an absolute curse. At the end of the day, it was something that ate at me endlessly and forced my mind to keep going even when I needed it to pause for my own sake. I _thought_ too much, or _worried_ too much, or _felt_ too much, nevermind how it played off the PTSD - but the specifics didn't matter. Regardless, I felt more of myself slipping away every day; with each passing and dauntless week that I worked among the chaos and humanity of my hospital's emergency department, more of me just slipped away in ways I could barely describe or understand. Because I'm a goddamned genius, and I can't make it stop.

Even so, knowing all of this and what it had entailed in the past, I constantly warred between distress and forced indifference to the effects of the situation, and it was that level of distress which bothered me more immensely than anything else. For a patient - for the very _nature_ of the work - to affect a physician that severely was a _very_ bad sign for that physician. Growing numb was a dangerous occupational hazard in its own right, but worrying to the point of distraction was far worse, and not for the first time I was facing it head-on.

But through it all, as I felt myself getting worse, I said nothing; I gave no outward sign that anything was wrong with me. I couldn't bring myself to call out for help. I just wanted to revel in Christine's success, needed that relatively uncomplicated aspect of my life simply to distract from it all, even if only briefly. At the beginning, that method had sustained my overall composure for a time, as I had hoped it would. But doing so ultimately proved to only work for so long in the end. It was a fleeting thing, as it turned out - a comfortable distraction that simply couldn't last, couldn't stand up to the larger issues I faced. As the weeks continued to pass, I felt more vulnerable than I had in years, more unable to cope responsibly or appropriately, and I absolutely resented those facts. Most of my life had been so out of my control until recently; I wasn't willing to give that up now without a fight. How to do so, however, continued to be the question to which I had absolutely no right answer. I was aware - however distantly - of how close I was to losing control of myself again; but in the end I did little to stop it just the same. Somehow, I just couldn't, and I don't think I'll ever know why.

I hadn't wanted to relive my history - I had tried so hard to prevent this all from happening again. Only, it seemed, for it to all have been in vain.


	5. Any Misery You Choose, Interlude

**Author's Note:** _T_ _itle is based off the song "Fake Your Death" by My Chemical Romance. More notes/context before the next chapter. Enjoy!_

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Interlude 1 - Any Misery You Choose

Erik

There was more Jack Daniel's in the ugly concoction in front of me than Cola, and as I sat staring at it - willing myself the strength to actually pick it up and drink it - I almost wanted to laugh at the essential _wrongness_ of the whole situation. I shouldn't have made the drink - I shouldn't have stopped off and bought the whiskey at all. Because I was an alcoholic, and I knew better - although I stopped drinking last year, before coming to Chicago, I will _always be_ an alcoholic. Even in the wake of a year's sobriety, the impulse was always there, threatening to lay ruin to what I had built with my almost desperate determination since coming to the city. I tried to outsmart it by keeping busy, tried to take that ever-recurring impulse down before it could overpower me again. I wanted to stay a step ahead and thought myself strategic in doing so all the while. I knew my limits, and every time I began drinking again, I surpassed them in a ritual of self-destruction that always became more difficult to escape each time. Throughout the last year, I had fought hard to avoid that cycle. But that night, as I sat at my kitchen table sliding my glass back and forth between my hands, I told myself that it wouldn't come down to those extremes again.

I wanted to be able to sleep - that was the thing, my one and only excuse in a stubborn attempt to make the relapse palatable. I _needed_ to sleep. I had been increasingly more uneasy and restless at night over the last few weeks, but that night proved to be exceptionally more difficult than those preceding it. I was exhausted, but once again my mind wouldn't settle down; it couldn't remain quiet for long. And, though not for lack of _trying_ , nothing else helped. The exhaustion was affecting me badly, and I feared the potential long-term consequences of that exhaustion - so I tried to convince myself that the Cola was there to settle my stomach, the Jack a necessity to counteract the caffeine. Because how _else_ could I justify it? I couldn't, nor would I try. Because _I knew better_. A deeper part of me whispered that I was wrong - it was all _wrong_. But a stronger part screamed in reply that everything would be fine, that this was only a temporary solution to a larger problem - a problem that I would acknowledge in due time. Just...not that night. For all intents and purposes, I _was_ steadily spiraling out of control - but I lied to myself that night, insisted that I acted with good intentions. It wouldn't be as bad as before. I just wanted to sleep without hearing the screaming, without the memories of blood and viciousness and futility that had once again become a significant fixture in my life.

And so I took a drink of the Jack and Coke, and then another. I felt the carbonation and alcohol burn my throat, loathing that all-too familiar sensation but waiting all the while for the mixture to finally go to my head and calm me down. _Fuck it,_ I thought after a time, deciding in a haste that it wasn't effective enough on its own and abandoning the larger mixed drink for a shot glass. Resigned to whatever consequences I was setting up for myself - casting them aside for the time being - I downed a few shots as quickly as possible. The faster I got it over with, the better - before I could change my mind and thus surrender myself to another miserable and seemingly endless night.

I just wanted to sleep.

~~oOo~~

Drinking again after so long spent away was almost too simple of an event to set into motion. Once Christine left the hospital after losing her DNR patient, I concluded my charts for the day, went home, and stopped on the way to buy the whisky. And that was all - no grand, dramatic display on my part, no irrational actions taken as a result of my otherwise unplanned inebriation. I worried about it for a while, threw caution to the wind and got drunk, and then I just went to bed. That was my quiet evening at home. But it was a monumental turn of events just the same - one night that held all the potential to change my life once again, and not for the better. Because no amount of shame or regret could take back what I had done, no words could justify my decision.

Five weeks. I made it _five weeks_ , damn near to the day, before I lost control of myself - before I ultimately gave in and let the weight of everything I witnessed and remembered be allowed to crush me again. And when that control was forfeited, I didn't quite know how to come to terms with that fact; I couldn't say whether I should regard the length of time spent in relative success as an accomplishment under extenuating and unforeseen circumstances, or a point of shame upon consideration of the recent past. In the end, I chose not to acknowledge the truth, the preceding details at all - not in the grander sense. They didn't matter, and it was all just too much for me to comprehend anyway - too much to cope with. I thought I could handle the transfer to the emergency department at first. I thought I _was_ handling it and would continue to do so - but clearly, I let something fall to the wayside; it just became _too much_ , and too soon after so recently having to be forcefully pulled from rock bottom. I wasn't ready to face it all again - I saw it coming, but in spite of my best efforts, I just wasn't ready to fight. But I wanted to preempt worse things to come somehow, to fend off the inevitable demons of my chosen profession in order to keep treading water - because I knew that my employment situation wasn't going to change in the near future.

I genuinely missed working on the surgical service. I had my complaints, but I couldn't deny that I was content all the while. There, my work days were passed in a relatively calm environment, even when something went wrong in the OR. My performance there was controlled and precise, allowing me to stay detached and remote from the world yet not permitting me to get lost inside my own mind for too long. Everything was just as I _needed_ it to be. The emergency room, in turn, had proven time and time again to be as overwhelming and troubling as I had initially feared. It was a controlled sort of chaos, but chaos just the same, and it absolutely grated at me. On the worst days, I couldn't let go of anything I had seen or heard. Events within the department were barely reined in - doctors shouting, patients screaming, family members inconsolable; and I always inevitably found out _why_ , what had brought those people to us to begin with. The accidents weren't as bad - it was the violence that was the issue, as it always had been before. It kept me up at night and triggered PTSD symptoms more often; ultimately, my fear of worsening anxiety affecting my livelihood and home life alike led me to seek solace somehow, in the only way I knew that didn't involve actively reaching out and begging for help. I _had_ to be kept busy, had to maintain my employment, but I knew I couldn't keep working effectively under present conditions without some sort of intervention on my part. It wasn't a _strong_ justification, but it was all I had for the time being, and as such I stubbornly determined to not let it get out of control.

And so, I chose to regard the previous evening as one that was especially difficult, but likely an isolated incident, a slip-up that could reasonably be expected from someone like me. Because at the end of the day, I just couldn't bring myself to face the shame of asking for help - not then. The drinking was wasn't bad at that point, and I sincerely believed that I could prevent it from becoming as much of a problem as it had been before. Even as I had been thinking along the exact _opposite_ lines the night before, it was easier to tell myself that what I was doing was somehow right - that it wouldn't get worse. I wouldn't lose my mind; I wouldn't end up like that man in the emergency room the previous day, driving drunk and killing that kid's parents. I had just had a bad night and would move forward as if nothing had changed.

If I hadn't been in such strong denial, I could have easily said that I was hungover the next morning. The throbbing headache upon waking was the worst part of it. I hadn't had a drink in over a year, and consuming as much alcohol as I had the night before was a mistake - a miscalculation made in a desperate attempt for a quick and effective result. I had gotten my wish for sleep, yet it seemed that I no longer had the tolerance I once did. _I'm getting too old for this shit_ , I thought as I drug myself out of bed to get ready for the day. But I hid the hangover well enough; I rehydrated myself and swallowed tylenols and took all the proper steps to ensure that I could still work effectively during my shift. No matter what, I would maintain a clear head. Hopeless drunk though I was, I had never allowed it to affect my work, and I didn't intend to start. The night before was no exception - exhausted and heartsick, I drank until I was sure that I would fall asleep quickly, and have a dreamless sleep at that. And nothing more. I had been successful; I wouldn't let my own damn hangups overflow into my career. I simply needed a break, and as such I decided that the comparatively restful night had likely worked in my favor - that I wouldn't have to resort to those desperate measures again any time soon. Aside from waking up feeling like hell, I was no worse for the wear regarding the rest of my life, my responsibilities holding dominance in my mind. Because, of course, I was in denial. But I wanted to do very little about the overall issue for the time being, and so I left it at that and was content in my reasoning.

Spoken like a true alcoholic.


	6. Fool's Game, Part 2

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back! I'm going to keep this short, first with the usual thank yous to everyone that's reading and reviewing and basically just sharing the love - y'all are wonderful! Also, regarding discussions about medical details to follow - just a fun fact, the chemotherapy device they talk about in this chapter does actually exist. I'll give the disclaimer now that **I absolutely am not being paid to endorse this product** \- however, I've done my research for plot and detail purposes and I am very much impressed with the manufacturer and all they do to help people, and I was glad to make mention of it here. That said, please let me know what y'all think, how this whole part 2 business turned out as a whole, all that good stuff. Finally, once again the title of this as well as the first half of the chapter comes from the Richard Marx song of the same name, and probably makes a hell of a lot more sense now. Welp, I believe that's everything, so remember to review, and most importantly: enjoy!_

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Chapter 4 - Fool's Game, Part 2

Erik

In order to make it outwardly appear that nothing was wrong with me, I got to work early and was met with a relatively empty emergency room upon my arrival. The morning hours were always tricky. They were either incredibly slow because people have already settled themselves into work, or school, or whatever else keeps them relatively out of harm's way - or they were chaotic because those same people met with some terrible fate on the way to living their lives. There was no in between. That morning, however, it was thankfully the former scenario that greeted me for the moment, though I couldn't say then how long the peace would last. But assuming that I still had some time to kill before something _did_ happen and it would be necessary for me to make an appearance inside, I tucked myself away in a corner of the ambulance bay to smoke a cigarette. Technically, I wasn't supposed to - that wasn't a section of the campus for which smoking was designated. But I didn't care then. I had done it plenty of times before without incident, always deciding that I would bend the rules and wait until someone noticed or cared enough to send me elsewhere. Fortunately for me, that had yet to happen. And so I settled in, taking off the surgical mask and leaning against the wall as I smoked, distantly noting that the sunlight wasn't strong yet, that the morning was still cold. And as the autumn weather continued to settle in, I knew that it warm up any time soon.

I saw Christine round the corner then, coffee in hand, and I actually smiled at her approach - her presence was a welcomed change to my otherwise morose thoughts as I attempted not to dwell on the manner in which I spent previous night. I could say, after so much time spent working so closely together, that I genuinely enjoyed having her in the department and the company she provided me. It was a relief to me time and time again over the preceding weeks that I had followed my instincts about her, rather than talking myself out of offering to help her with her rotation. I was certain by then that it would have been a shame to have missed the progress she made, to have robbed myself of the opportunity to witness and foster that progress firsthand. She had made incredible progress in spite of the less-than ideal circumstances she had been given, and I was as impressed with her tenacity as I had been at the outset. All things considered, I was at least grateful for that fact. But I didn't think on it too much longer when I noticed that she looked very chilled as she walked determinedly toward the ER's entrance; I almost laughed at that, because once again she was almost endearing in her manners outside of a professional environment, huddled into herself as if she was walking through a snowstorm. It wasn't _warm_ , but it was only early October. The weather would continue to get worse, and I had to wonder how she had fared in the past.

"You're not from around here, are you?" I asked, calling out to her and startling her as she walked. I suspected what the answer would be, but for whatever reason I just wanted to speak with her - with someone at all - for a moment before our shifts began.

"I didn't see you there," she said as she approached me, "And no, I'm not."

I didn't make any attempt to hide my face from her then; it wasn't necessary, and I no longer minded her seeing me without the surgical mask. Although there had only been a handful of occasions that I had gone without it in front of her, she had never reacted badly beyond that first heated encounter, and as such I grew to trust her as much as I could trust any person. That in itself was a relief, and in turn made it easier maintain a positive outlook where time spent with her was concerned. Time hadn't dulled my regard for her; rather, our working relationship had given me a singular opportunity to appreciate her. I looked again at her eyes, as transfixed with them as I had been on that first day. I doubted that she ever caught me looking, but I did so admittedly more often than I cared to consider, always noting their warmth and allowing myself to take some small amount of peace from them - especially on the days when we worked together on exceptionally difficult cases. Not for the first time, I quietly hoped that she would choose a specialty that would reflect her innate compassion, a specialty that would encourage it rather than condition her to hold herself back. Namely, I didn't want her to go into surgery - time and experience would teach her to withdraw like so many before her, both as a means of strategy and self-defense. The specialty simply inspires too much detachment - although it worked for the most part for people like me, for her that kind of detachment would be a disservice to her natural skills and her patients alike. No matter how successful she would surely become, she didn't deserve to be dispirited like that.

"Where _are_ you from?" I asked, because I found it strange in those moments that I had never posed the question before that day - I hadn't asked for _any_ details of her life, hadn't actively gathered any for myself even as she knew seemingly significant details about me. For the longest time, it hadn't seemed prudent for me to ask. But though it wasn't that I necessarily wanted to level the ground between us, I felt then that maybe I _should_ know something - even something outwardly inconsequential - simply for the sake of our continued rapport and the effectiveness of my tutoring as our time together drew to a close. If I wanted to continue teaching her how to be an effective physician, then I was sure that some bits of information regarding her personality would help me to shape the knowledge I imparted for her individual benefit. Her rotation was more than halfway over, and I wanted to give her as much help as possible before she moved on. So I decided that I needed to know just a little more about her and see where that information led. But I chose not to focus so much on the larger picture too much more for the time being; rather, I felt that I was still in safe territory by keeping to gathering _limited_ information. It was a question I normally wouldn't care to ask - certainly a breach of my standard of maintaining my distance from my coworkers - but it seemed innocent enough for my purposes.

"California," she responded, breaking me from my thoughts.

I laughed, "Apparently not the _mountains_ of California."

She shook her head, smiling as she continued, "Not at all. I grew up in San Diego, mostly. I didn't even see snow in person until I was in high school, when we went up to Mammoth. That's a resort up by - "

" - I know what Mammoth is," I said lightly, "Anyway, haven't you been _here_ for a while, though? You should be used to these kind of mornings by now."

"I'm a beach-dweller at heart," she said, then added seriously, "Erik, I'm sorry again. About yesterday."

I sighed, wishing that the levity between us hadn't come to its end so _quickly_. I preferred the relative peace we had just shared, staying cocooned in the blissful ignorance of day-to-day monotony that our work inevitably crushed. But the incidents of the day before would need to be addressed sooner or later, preferably while my headache was still kept at bay and I could speak to her clearly about what had happened - what needed to happen in the _future_ , should the issue arise again. And it certainly would; that was just the nature of it all. I knew that the patient's willingness to allow his curable ailment to kill him had weighed heavily on Christine's mind, but I was sure that my approach to it before hadn't been what she needed to hear. Still shaken by my own patients' fatalities, I had allowed the conversation to dissolve and become too convoluted, and we had halted our words before anything could be learned or achieved. I had to try a different path, and I wanted to get the discussion out of the way as soon as possible so that she could move on and continue her work as planned.

So, regretting the end of our more neutral conversation, I spoke my next words regardless, "Don't be sorry, Christine. It happens, but we need to make sure it doesn't happen again."

She nodded, seeming to consider her words before asking, "All of those people you showed us...did they really die before the end of the day?"

"Yes," I said flatly, taking another drag from my cigarette, "Only the kid survived, the one in the car accident."

"Not his parents?"

"No. It was one of those shifts where everything goes wrong, and we lose more than one patient. We couldn't help everyone."

She shifted uncomfortably, looking away from me sadly as she said, "I don't know how you deal with that."

I didn't respond directly. I remembered then what she had told me about losing her father when she was younger, alluding to the fact that he had fought longer than perhaps was merciful, and likely for the sake of as much time spent with his family as possible; and with that information, her reaction to the dying man the day before had made far more sense, now put into a clearer context. She was alone - much like me, it seemed that she was largely alone in this city, attempting to build her life and make a name for herself in her chosen profession like so many students before her - and she was well on her way to doing just that, yet all she had wanted to do with her time was to keep that one man alive for as long as possible. Of course she had been saddened by his circumstances, just as I had been immensely bothered by the events of my own day.

But I didn't want to give more of myself away then in favor of keeping to the topic at hand, and said instead, "Christine, your heart was in the right place yesterday. You should remember that. You wanted to do the right thing, and that's commendable. But you _have_ to learn to separate yourself from it all before you start practicing medicine. Whatever happens outside of this hospital, you have to leave it all at the door. And in turn, you can't take the hospital home with you," I said, then added gently, "I'm sorry again about your father, but you had too much of his memory influencing your approach to your pneumonia patient. It distorted your view of the situation. What's done is done, but you can't let that happen in the future."

"That man...I wasn't prepared for him," she said softly, seeming to need to explain herself. I couldn't blame her, and gave a prompting word of agreement for her to continue, "Something like _that_ has never happened to me before, since I started working here. All of my patients until that point were...they were just different. And then he comes along, ready to die, and I couldn't handle it. All I could think about was my dad, and life, and time. I feel like I was _mad_ at my patient for wasting _his_ time," she admitted sadly, then looked at me directly, "And I know I shouldn't have done what I did, but I thought if I could convince him to wait, then I would be helping him in the end."

"I understand. But don't feel bad, just learn from it," I said firmly, then paused, "I think it's partly my fault. I've gone over the mechanics with you for weeks now. But I never taught you the humanity behind it all, how every patient has to be approached differently, especially in situations where you have to work so closely with them. None of us have taught you that..."

And as I spoke, I suddenly felt guilty for that truth. I had been remiss in teaching that component of medicine which involves the most basic aspects of regarding life and death - of regarding humanity - as had her resident. I hadn't remembered the day before that _I_ had learned how to act in the best interest of a dying patient a long time ago, but Christine hadn't yet. And in turn, she had been made to handle a complex and challenging situation far beyond her experience, and with few resources made available to her before the fact. She wasn't at fault for her behavior - not entirely. But she needed to learn those lessons as soon as possible - certainly before she began her studies in the rest of her rotations - and I decided then to be that much more mindful of that fact during future discussions and interactions with her. Regarding the situation _at hand_ , at the very least I didn't want her to continue feeling accountable for another oversight that was very much out of her control.

"That's Dr. McArt's job, though," she countered, ignorant of my own thoughts on the matter, yet seeming to read my mind just the same, "You taught me _exactly_ what you offered to teach me. Besides, I don't think we really considered it before. _Any_ of us. Even Raoul had only sided with me because he didn't _know_ any better than I did."

"I'm not concerned with him," I said more sharply than intended, annoyed at the memory of Chaney's involvement and attitude the previous day, "It's _your_ interests I have in mind now."

"I know. I just think it wasn't a matter of you not teaching me, it's how the students get thrown into this environment and just have to work with it. As a student, all I want to do is learn, and practice, and work, and just keep _going_ all the time, and save everyone I can - "

" - I know. I remember what it is to be a med student."

She nodded and continued, "But I never really considered what I would do when the time came that I _couldn't_ save someone. _None_ of us did. So I guess something like this was bound to happen sooner or later."

I sighed, "Maybe you're right. But regardless, we _should_ have taught you better. I'm going to in the future, at any rate."

"That sounds reasonable," she said softly, determinedly.

"For what it's worth," I began, knowing what I needed to say and fearing that I'd lose my nerve all the while, "I'm proud of you anyway. I don't think you did anything wrong. Your approach was bad, but the whole thing could've gone worse. You didn't hurt anyone, and you didn't kill anyone. You advocated for your patient, but you forgot to listen. That's it. But I _am_ proud of you. Learn from this, and you'll be fine."

She smiled at that - she absolutely _beamed_ at my words - as she murmured a shy word of thanks. And for a moment I was taken aback by the expression, by the beauty in her eyes that I had acknowledged even the first time I met her - so much stronger now that I was more familiar with her company. But it was almost disarming that morning. Maybe it was because I knew that much more about her now - fragmented somethings beyond the strictly enforced confines of my standard of professionalism, beyond medicine and the hospital and its patients. Or maybe it was only my determination to see to her success and my resulting pride in her - pride which I refused to deny any longer - that had caused her to smile in my direction and thus render me almost speechless. I truly couldn't say, and I didn't have it in me to examine any of it further then. Whatever the reason behind my unexpected reaction, I knew all the same that at least I had helped her, and that was what mattered the most then. It had to mean something. Officially so or not, she was my student, and her success was our shared priority. If I could help her to regain her confidence and carry on in her education as determined, then all the better.

So I offered a reserved smiled back, sincere in my words, and dismissed everything else I felt - because it seemed that the matter was resolved, and there were still far more important things to face then in its wake. Making a note to remember that, I stomped out my cigarette, replaced the surgical mask, and ushered her into the building, finally ready to go about our work in our respective positions.

~~oOo~~

Christine

The day before, standing in the on-call room observing Erik and his reaction to the difficult day that ultimately led to our heated conversation, I had initially been determined to learn from the experience with my pneumonia patient on my own - to believe that we had all been strengthened by it. But in the stillness of my lonely apartment that night, I was reminded once again of how deeply the case had resonated with me - how it had so acutely reminded me of my own losses - and I simply couldn't maintain that determination to remain positive for long. Saddened and dejected, I very seriously considered counting down the remaining weeks of my rotation after that point. I had initially wanted to go as far as counting the _days_ \- each day after the other, tallying them off on my wall like a prisoner whiles away his sentence. But I rejected that idea long before I acted on it. That method of marking the passage of time seemed too bleak in the end; and besides, I was there working through my last year of med school of my own free will, gaining an education that was challenging and thrilling and worthwhile as I did so. My emergency room rotation was not a punishment, and I would do well to remember that. It certainly _was_ stressful - some said it would be one of the most difficult assignments of the mandatory rotations - and there were days that inevitably proved to be worse than others. But I knew it was all a significant part of the learning process, and that I would see as much of that brand of mingled triumph and heartache when I became a doctor myself.

So instead marking my days as if I was not striving toward a larger goal, I simply circled the date. Thus, it became a way of telling myself all I had learned that day and all that I still had left to learn - a reminder that I _had_ been successful thus far, that it was worth seeing my dream come to life slowly but surely. As upsetting as the incident had been, it had given me valuable insight into what my career would entail, that simply learning and applying the mechanics wouldn't be enough to help anyone.

That idea was reinforced all the more securely by my discussion with Erik the next morning, and I felt decidedly better because of it. His admitted pride in me was almost overwhelming, made that much more impactful by the absolute knowledge that he was truthful in his sentiment. He had always been encouraging, but had never outright told me that he was _proud_ of me, and I counted that admission as a significant success on my part. He was simply too reserved of a man to give such praises lightly, without sincere consideration, and to have earned it meant more to me than I could properly convey. In turn, I was able to set our previous conflict aside, to once again make a note to learn from it, and continue to realize that he was a far better person than he was willing to convey even in his distance and complexity of character. Our discussion would be one that proved to stand out in my memory, simply for the fact that - for the first time - he seemed to regard me as more of a peer than a colleage, more of a potential friend than a subordinate, and it seemed to reflect in our time together then. I marked the encounter as a wholly positive one. He appeared tired as we spoke - worn, even - but he had somehow been more human in those moments as he attempted to reach out to me, and I knew that it was significant even in its brevity and simplicity.

It would be some time before another conversation of that nature would occur between us - but for the time being, I was confident to return once again to my work, ever-mindful to ensure that my education was my continued priority.

Just days later, the incident with my patient successfully put to rest for all involved, the emergency department experienced one of its slower days - for the first time in what seemed like an endless procession of gunshot wounds and stabbing victims and car accidents, we were somehow granted a reprieve from the otherwise routine chaos. I noted mostly uninsured patients seeking basic health care, a few broken bones or concussions, but very few traumas, and I counted us as fortunate for the chance to step back from it all and just breathe. It was a rare treat for the doctors and nurses to be able to collect their thoughts for any significant amount of time before something happened to break the silence, and we were all grateful for the chance to do so then. But at one point, a cancer patient came in after a seizure episode, and once again we were back to work, strictly methodical even after our time spent talking or joking with one another during the lull in patients.

Dr. McArt had taken me with him when the woman was brought in by the EMTs. Erik, as it had happened, was smoking near the ambulance bay when the patient arrived, and thus was put in charge of her case from the beginning. He was still evaluating her when Dr. McArt and I arrived. It was rare that I saw Erik interact with patients outside of the trauma cases in which he specialized, and so I was curious to see how he carried himself in the vastly differing setting. And it was almost amusing for me to see that very little about him changed, save for the tone of his voice and the amount of tension he carried throughout the process. On the whole, he acted much the same as he did in any other case, speaking directly, giving order succinctly, each movement well-orchestrated. But true to form, his eyes ultimately gave him away - they were calm, holding far less of the turmoil that he usually harbored, and I realized then that I had rarely seen that expression in them - _certainly_ not while in the company of a patient. I almost wished that he _wasn't_ a surgeon, if that meant he could be granted more of those peaceful moments in his career. Fearing that the expression would disappear at any second, I made it a point to glance at him every so often, even as I listened to Dr. McArt's words as he attempted to teach me about various aspects of the patient's care - half-hearted though his effort was.

"Hold on," Erik said at one point, "What is this?"

We all looked where he indicated, seeing a small and seemingly innocuous device adhered to the woman's arm. I recognized it immediately.

"It's for chemo," I said without thinking, then elaborated further as all eyes in the room seemed to be on me, "They're given to cancer patients following chemotherapy treatments, so they don't have to risk infection by leaving home for follow-up treatments."

"I've never seen one," Dr. McArt said, "Good catch."

I nodded, feeling proud that I had been able to identify the device, knowing that doing so might have helped the woman somehow. Every detail mattered when assessing a patient - _that much_ I had known from the start. We went back to the patient's care after that brief exchange, going through each step of the admittance process meticulously to ensure her proper treatment and placement within the hospital. It was a short-lived case, but one I considered largely successful even so. The cancer patients I had seen throughout my ER rotation thus far were always closest to my heart, but I had rarely gotten to interact with them during that time. That level of communication with patients would have to wait until later, likely until my internship began. For the moment, I had to be content that I could only wish the woman luck and hope that I continued on my own successful path - doing so meant that I would have the opportunity to treat so many more in her position, and that thought alone gave me hope.

Later, still feeling genuinely uplifted by the successful day, I went to the doctor's lounge for coffee, enjoying the fact that it was still relatively slow in the ER. To my surprise, Erik was there as well, sitting at the table and reading a medical journal.

"Have you chosen a specialty yet?" he asked when I approached, not looking up from the page he seemed so focused on.

"Yes, actually," I said confidently, sitting across from him as I responded, "Oncology."

"That's what I thought," he said with an approving nod, "I'm not surprised, you have the right personality for it. And you've obviously been keeping up with the research," he added, holding up the journal that only then I realized was one I had brought with me and left in the lounge before my patient had arrived. Giving a sly smile as he acknowledged my realization that he had stolen my copy, he continued, "I'll give it back to you, don't worry. That Neulasta kit is fairly new. The one the cancer patient had earlier."

"It's funny that she came in with one, the same day I read about them. That's a good learning experience for me, I guess. To see one in person," I laughed, "They're about a year old," I said, excited at the prospect of having that conversation with him. Because, although it still surrounded medicine, it was a topic _I_ knew about. I could teach him something after so long existing in the opposite role. I was eager to share what I had so recently learned myself and continued on in a rush, "And they're basically repurposed insulin pumps. You know the wireless kind, right? It's the same principle, the dose is preset into the pod, the one you saw on her arm. The oncologist sets it up in the office once, and then the patient doesn't have to leave their house so often afterward. So many cancer patients risk infection just having to get aftercare."

He smiled as I concluded, "Sounds like a good solution. I'm glad you knew about them, it really helped to streamline her admittance. The seizure made her too foggy to answer our questions, but we didn't have to waste time figuring out what the pod was for. One less thing to worry about before we got in touch with her regular oncologist. So, well done. That was a perfect opportunity to speak up."

I nodded, smiling at his commendation as I asked, "How is she?"

"Fine now, last I heard."

"Good, I'm glad," I said, and sighed contentedly, enjoying warmth of my coffee cup, the room, the conversation as a whole, "It's quiet today. It's nice."

"Don't say it's ' _quiet'_. You'll ruin it for the rest of us."

I laughed, "Right. Sorry, I forgot about that," I said, then ventured, "I didn't think _you_ were superstitious, though."

"Ordinarily, I'm not. But I've witnessed the word 'quiet' ruin a good day too many times to ignore it. It happens everywhere," he paused, seeming to half-smile beneath the mask as he said, "It was that damn curse that led to _us_ meeting, did you know that?"

"No," I said, my curiosity piqued by his uncharacteristic steering of the conversation, and I prompted him to respond, "How so?"

"We were slammed down here that day, and then the accident you and I went out to in the sticks happened in the middle of all that. I probably wouldn't have been sent up on the MediVac otherwise. Or McArt wouldn't have wanted to send you."

"Hmm," I mused, "And what a disaster _that_ turned out to be."

He shrugged, "It wasn't necessarily a disaster, in the end. Anyway, it was short-lived."

I nodded my agreement, then paused before speaking again, "Erik, why did you offer to help me out after that?" I asked, sure that there was more of a reason behind that offer than he had initially led me to believe. At that point, I still knew very little about him beyond my observations of his character, beyond small details such as the fact that he was left-handed, that he took his coffee black. In those moments, I suddenly had the desire for more; in asking for the specifics behind his offer to tutor me at least, I hoped to perhaps solidify our relationship still further, and so I continued on, "Was it really just because my resident is useless?"

"That's part of it," he said, then seemed to consider his words before speaking again, "There were a lot of things...you standing up to me, the fact that you intubated that woman by yourself. _That_ was significant. You shouldn't have, and you did it wrong, but _damn,_ you tried," he laughed then, "I couldn't stay mad, at any rate."

"Maybe you should have. I know what a pain in the ass med students can be," I said lightly, and laughed again myself, "I guess everything worked out, though, in the end. I got a friend out of it."

"I'm your _friend_ now?" he asked dubiously, but his eyes betrayed his humor.

So I responded bravely, "I think so, yes."

"You have terrible taste in friends," he said, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the journal in front of him.

And that was when the dynamic between us was altered. That conversation wasn't necessarily a _monumental_ turning point for us, but I could not deny that the tides had somehow shifted for us just the same. I counted it as a success on my part that he didn't outright refuse the idea of a defined friendship between us, and decided then to leave it at that. We simply continued on in a companionable silence - until the time inevitably arrived that the peace of the day was disrupted by the world outside, and we were pulled from the lounge and back into our respective positions, falling back into the more familiar patterns of student and teacher when next we interacted again. But I didn't mind the reestablishment those roles, as I hadn't minded their necessity to begin with, not as much as I had before; because I had ultimately been able to reach out to Erik and have the gesture returned at last. Aside from the success earned in the course of my ER rotation and those to follow, a friendship with the man that had fascinated me so endlessly was all I had wanted for some time. It was an immediate relief to no longer feel the distance of being held at arm's length by someone with whom I spent so much time, someone that I still wanted to get to know better. Now, it seemed, I stood a fighting chance of doing so, and I couldn't help but smiling inwardly at the opportunity.

In the meantime, there was still work to be done in the hospital. It was by that point in my rotation that both Dr. McArt and Erik were beginning to trust me to effectively handle more direct communication with patients and their families - as discussed, I had to learn the finer points of that kind of communication in order to prepare me for the demands of my internship and the years beyond that point, and so they actively set out in seeking opportunities for me to do so. The first occasion stands out in my memory simply for the fact that it was more emotionally jarring than others, calling vividly to memory the images of being on the receiving end of such a conversation - to be informed that a loved one had died.

A man had been brought into the emergency room after falling from a set of scaffolding at his work, and had succumbed to his injuries shortly thereafter. We were left to help settle his affairs and to inform his wife of his death. I had to force myself to remember Erik's advice about the necessity of leaving my own life at the hospital's doors then - I don't believe I could have gotten through the case without recalling that aspect of effective medicine. The loss had been particularly unsettling for Dr. McArt as it stood. At the outset of treating the patient, he had been sure that the man would survive - only to lose him rather abruptly. There was simply no coming back from his injuries. Upon seeing that the man was listed as an organ donor, Dr. McArt had gone upstairs to arrange the potential organ harvesting with the surgical service's transplant team, determined to save a life somehow in the wake of his perceived failure and leaving Erik and I to speak with the wife on our own. I knew that it was a decidedly uncomfortable situation for Erik to be in, and I had never been in a position to break such devastating news before, but he and Dr. McArt were once again in agreement that it was time for me to learn that lesson.

Erik sighed, seeming resigned as he prepared himself for the encounter and we discussed our course of action.

"Don't worry," he said, "You would've had to learn to do this sooner or later. You have to practice, remember? Come with me."

He led me away from the trauma room in which the man lay, brain-dead and unreachable. Taking a deep breath, I followed Erik to the hallway just beyond our intended destination, noting that he paused far away from the waiting room - appearing distinctly uncomfortable, his eyes once again gave away what his mask kept hidden.

"Will I be the one to tell her?" I asked hesitantly, attempting to distract him from his discomfort even as I felt my own confidence faltering.

"Not this time," he said, "Just watch me, watch what I do."

"Walk me through it first, as if I was the one talking this time."

He nodded, "We're going to take her to the family room, and that's when I'll tell her. Never do it out in the open. Make sure she's sitting down when she's told, sometimes people end up passing out without warning. Speak softly, but directly. No euphemisms. Always use the words 'died' and 'dead.' Tell her that we did everything we could, explain what happened, but don't use any medical jargon unless specifically requested."

"Is there anything else?"

"In this case, the organ donation will need to be addressed and consented to. Ask if she wants to see her husband's body, and take her when she's ready. She has to know, under no uncertain terms, that he's brain-dead. There's no coming back from it, but she'll likely insist that there's still a chance. He'll still be warm, and that always makes it more difficult for all involved."

"And that's all?"

"Yes," he nodded again, slowly and solemnly, "Then you just wait. I'll call down the social worker for the wife, and later I'll need to ask her some finalizing questions, about religious preferences, mortuaries, things like that. They're listed on the chart, for when you have to do this, but don't read directly from the list. That's too impersonal. Familiarize yourself with it, and ask someone else to do it until then."

"Alright," I said, feeling somewhat numb yet overwhelmed all the while. But even so, we resumed walking toward the woman whose life our words were about to change forever.

Erik paused again, "Are you ready?"

"I don't know..." I admitted, hesitating once more before I asked, "Is it wrong to be this upset right now?"

"No, it isn't. If you handle it right, it'll make you a better doctor in the end."

"I just can't stop thinking about it. The whole thing seems so unfair. I'm upset about it, and it almost feels selfish, and I don't know how to make this woman feel better. How does _any_ of that make me a better doctor?"

"Because she'll remember you for treating her kindly on what is probably the worst day of her life. Even if you're not the one speaking this time, your compassion shows in your eyes and your mannerisms. It's your acknowledgment of his humanity and her pain. She needs to see that, and she'll remember it."

"What a horrible day to remember."

"I know," he said softly, then asked almost abruptly, "Why did you choose oncology, Christine?"

Unsure then of why exactly he was asking, I considered my words before speaking, remembering my reflections from the day we met, "At first, I wanted to find a cure. I thought I'd find some drug trial or miracle treatment, and it would all be easy then," I laughed sadly, "But the more I learn, I know that's unrealistic, and there's more to it all than that. I just...I wanted to help people, just like the doctors had helped me and my dad, especially in the end."

"Then that's what you'll do here. _That's_ what you're learning how to do today," he insisted, "Remember that when you set off on your career, why you wanted it in the first place."

I couldn't respond then - I could only look at him and nod absently, attempting to take in his words for what they were. Once again I was struck at his ability to maintain his composure under such dismal circumstances, that in spite of the clinical detachment he favored, he was still able to reach others on some level. It was impressive to witness, the result of yet another conversation between us which gave me more insight into his mind, valuable information that gave me still more context to piece him together as a doctor and now as my friend. Because he had wanted me to see past the outward sadness of the situation and understand the heart of the matter. And in turn, his words had slowly begun to resonate with me as I was sure he had intended them to. I was able only then to remind myself once again that this was a part of being a doctor, that I was learning an incredibly important lesson in the midst of that sorrow.

So, nodding, I was finally ready to move forward and speak with the patient's wife, hoping all the while that I had in fact been able to help her, even if only in the smallest of ways. All I had ever wanted was to help people, and knew that I would never forget that woman as I learned that there were so many important approaches to doing so.

~~oOo~~

There were only two weeks left until the end of the ER rotation when it was decided that the med students within the department could now easily be trusted to competently handle triaging the incoming patients. By then, it was clear that we had learned enough to properly evaluate each case, to successfully determine how to prioritize urgent concerns over less critical matters that could wait, and I knew I wasn't the only one excited by the prospect of that much more freedom in our official capacity. Raoul, for instance, had been looking forward to the triage day for some time. He and I hadn't spoken often since we worked on my DNR patient together - he had opted to maintain his distance from Erik, alongside his more pressing concern of working more closely with his resident before the end of our rotation - but he had mentioned his excitement in passing several times, and that excitement was admittedly contagious. Dr. Khan had arranged the triage exercise between the students and our respective residents, choosing a day midweek during which he had determined the flow of patients was steady and reasonable enough for each of us to handle in our turns. My shift came around just after lunch, a time when the waiting room was slowly but steadily filling up again after the mealtime break pulled its occupants away. I was more than ready to situate myself and get to work, to test the retention of all the skills I had acquired in six week's time since my arrival.

Sitting in the small triage room, I felt immense pride at the responsibility presented to me, and upon the scrutiny of the nearby nurses, it was quickly determined that I had done well for the majority of my time there. It wasn't until one man - a frequent-flyer and known drug-seeker, I would later find out - came to me that I had any trouble. The exam initially went smoothly, not unlike so many of the others before him. But toward the end, I began to suspect that I would soon encounter difficulties where his treatment was concerned. As time went on and crept closer to the conclusion of his exam, he insisted quite adamantly that he was in excruciating pain - even though he showed no outward signs of it, and moreover his vital signs all appeared well within the normal range of a healthy adult and thus proved to the contrary. It was at that point that I had no choice but to send him back to the waiting room - a more senior physician would ultimately make the final decision regarding the necessity of his care, and likely be the one to send him away. My only job then was to usher him out so that I could see to the others in the waiting room. But _he_ wasn't willing to accept my decision, and he immediately became violent.

Hoping to appear authoritative, I stood to signal that it was time for him to leave - but before I could understand what was happening, he reached out and pushed me forcefully against a wall, sending me crashing into several stands of equipment as I stumbled in an attempt to correct myself. I hit the surface hard, although not quite to the point of pain. Rather, I was quickly rendered in a state of shock that was nearly paralyzing. Someone - likely one of the nearby nurses - had called for the security guards by then, but I could barely make sense of what was happening all around me as I wrapped my arms protectively around my head. The next thing I knew, Erik had entered the small space within the triage room and was pulling me to stand upright. I felt the sting of tears in my eyes as he did so, but I wouldn't allow myself to cry then. Somehow, I couldn't - not in front of the man who had attacked me. I wasn't willing to give him the satisfaction of witnessing my misery. So I bit it back, and as I did, I was distantly aware of the drug-seeker shouting obscenities in my direction as security pulled him elsewhere while Erik was trying to speak to me. But initially, I couldn't understand what he was saying - I couldn't make sense of his words. Obviously concerned by my lack of response, he led me away from triage and into a nearby exam room.

It was only when he sat me down on the gurney that I began to truly hear him.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, clearly not for the first time, gripping my hands tightly to keep me stable as his eyes shone in fear above the surgical mask, "Christine? Listen to me, honey. Are you alright?"

"I think so…" I said, my voice shaking. Unable to consider anything else then, I absently noted the level of his concern, the endearment he had extended to me, remembering that he had sometimes employed it for the younger or more distressed patients we had worked on together. I wondered if doing so then had only been an act for my sake as it had been for so many others before. But I didn't have the time to consider that further - nor to be grateful for his kind words regardless of their potentially superficial nature - as reality began to take shape again. And all at once I remembered exactly where I was, what had happened, and I realized that I was crying.

"You're safe," he said firmly, "You're safe here."

He took his hands away from mine briefly to untie the mask, and somehow doing so was a great comfort to me then. I believe that I needed to see him, to see all of his face to anchor myself that much more securely in reality, and he seemed to understand that. Because I had seen all of it before, during some of our more subdued conversations in the preceding weeks, and he was kind enough to remember those instances and apply that familiarity as a means to keep me from falling apart further. I wished I could convey my gratitude, but words continued to be elusive; instead, I remained silent, attempting to collect my thoughts as he continued to look at me, methodically running his hands over my neck and wrists to check for injuries. Seemingly confident that there were none, he took my hands in his own once again and held on tightly, reassuringly. I distantly realized that the gesture was the first from him - that outside of the necessary instances during trauma cases, there had never been an initiation of physical contact from him. An irrational part of me nearly wanted to make a worse display, if doing so meant more of that perceived affection from him. But I knew even in my distress that doing so would be manipulative, nevermind a highly inappropriate response to the panic of my short-lived ordeal, and I quickly thought better of it. For the moment, I was still shaking badly and I knew that I needed to make composing myself my priority.

"I think I'm just in shock," I said, laughing weakly, "I wasn't expecting that."

"I know. We have metal detectors to keep out the worst of it, and the drug-seekers usually just throw a fit and try somewhere else. But every now and again we'll have one that lashes out like this."

"Maybe I should've just let him stay - "

" - _No_ , you shouldn't have. You didn't do anything wrong."

I nodded, "Thank you for helping me. How did you know what happened?"

"I was _trying_ to go outside, I had just passed triage when he lost it."

"Lucky for me," I sighed, "I'm just glad he's gone."

"You should take a break. Go to the lounge for a while."

I shook my head, immediately disliking the idea of running off and hiding. By no small effort, I was known by then as one of the more successful students, and I didn't want anything I did to shake the confidence that the residents and attendings had in me. I had worked too long - both on my own and with Erik's help - to show any signs of weakness now and therefore being seen as incapable of handling the emotional strain of encountering a combative patient. The other doctors and nurses had been through it before, and I was sure I could handle myself in a far better manner than hiding away. If I needed to cry, I could do so at home - and I was certain in those moments that I most assuredly _would_ \- not at work when there were still patients to see.

So I insisted, "I'll be fine. I just need a minute."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I said with more confidence than I felt.

He nodded, "Alright. Take all the time you need."

We spent our time in silence after that, and eventually I calmed down enough to slip my hands away from Erik's in favor of preparing to leave the room and continue my shift. But as I did so, I was surprised to notice how empty they felt, how uncomfortable the abrupt coldness of the room was. I remembered the compassion he had extended to me when we first arrived in the room together, and although I knew that he acted in order to keep me calm and to bring me back to reality, a part of me distantly and unexpectedly hoped that it wasn't just an act on his part.

~~oOo~~

I was still shaken by the incident when I came into work the next day, but on the whole I felt better than I had expected to, all things considered. By the beginning of the following shift, my run-in with the drug-seeker was all but forgotten within the department. While my coworkers and superiors were sympathetic to what happened to me, I was not hurt at all, and thus it was not something that required further attention or discussion. It happened often enough - I was correct in my assumption that nearly everyone that had worked there regularly had gone through similar instances, and some more than once. As Erik had said, there would always be the occasional drug-seeker that reacted badly to being revealed for what they were and sent elsewhere without satisfaction, and that day I was the one that just happened to be the object of the man's anger regarding his larger issues. And so, while I _was_ shaken, I refused to allow it to affect me or my work, remembering my determination to continue being seen as a competent and reliable student to my colleagues. There were times when I recounted the events to myself, dissecting each moment and wondering if I could have done anything differently - only to ultimately decide that doing so was a wasted effort, and when it was all said and done, I simply chose not to dwell on one of so many aspects of my chosen career that could not be changed, and with that notion in mind I concluded my work week with relative success.

And life continued on. I went to work in the hospital as scheduled, I spoke to Erik after the shifts we shared, and I went home to study, noting once again with no small amount of sadness that my emergency room rotation was nearly over. It seemed as if it had just began, and yet so many weeks had passed, now to the point where I almost felt at home within its chaotic walls. So much of my life had revolved around that department and everything I learned there as I worked toward my ultimate career goal, continuing to use those experience and that time to encourage myself to keep going, even on the off days that I set medicine aside for a time in order to see to other aspects of my life. Because some things couldn't be avoided or put off much longer. At one point, I had made the decision to buy a car for myself, knowing from past years living in Chicago that the harsh winters made public transit unreliable and impossible to navigate at times, and now more than ever I couldn't afford to miss work as a result. So, scouring the local newspapers and the internet, on the weekend just before my very last week of ER shifts I finally found a man out in Schaumburg selling his car. In spite of the inconvenient distance I would have to travel to get to him, it was all I could afford at the time, and I jumped on the deal quickly. Getting there was a simple matter, interacting with the seller quick and easy. I made my purchase and was satisfied as I set off to return to the city, assuming that I could go straight home and deciding all the while what I needed to review before my next shift.

The car broke down very shortly after the fact.

Frustrated beyond words but unwilling to be delayed any longer, I attempted to see what the issue was. It turned out just to be a dead battery, likely some sort of internal issue within the device - annoying, but nothing that would keep the car out of commission, so long as that was the only problem. I didn't want to consider what I would do had _that_ been the case, and forcefully dismissed the notion from my mind as I set to work correcting the issue at hand. I was raised by a single father that valued the idea of my independence, and I could proudly say that he had successfully ensured that I could handle myself with any vehicle I owned that gave me trouble. But, as it turned out, I didn't have jumper cables on me at the time, stupidly neglecting to bring the ones I owned with me for the excursion into the suburbs - yet even if I had, there were few people around that day anyway. I had broken down in a relatively unpopulated area, near the Medieval Times restaurant during its off-hours of the morning, and by then I had no choice but to finally accept defeat. Resigned, I called Triple A and settled myself down for what was guaranteed to be a long wait.

I was standing outside of the car - leaning against the front of the hood in an attempt to allow the October sunshine to relax me - when another car passed. I didn't think much of it initially - not until the driver turned around. To my immense surprise, it was Erik behind the wheel, peering at me curiously as he pulled over.

"I thought that was you," he said as he got out of his car and approached mine, indicating it as he asked, "What happened?"

"The battery died."

"Shitty luck - "

" - And you want to know the worst part? I just bought this _stupid_ fucking thing," I fumed, weakly kicking the front tire as Erik clearly tried to suppress a laugh at my outburst. Ignoring him in my frustration, I continued, "I _just_ bought it, and it dies on me," I sighed, "Can I get a jump?"

"Sure," he said, still seemingly amused but polite enough to continue hiding it, and I followed him to the trunk of his own car.

"I didn't know you lived out here," I remarked as he searched for the jumper cables.

He nodded, "For about a year."

"Kind of far from work, isn't it?"

"It's not bad. I started off _in_ Chicago, but I didn't stay long. It was too loud - Damn it," he muttered abruptly as he turned to me, "The cables are at my house. Do you want to come with me to get them?"

Excited then by the prospect of seeing where he lived, but not wanting to appear overly enthusiastic for something that could be considered trivial, I simply shrugged as I said, "It's better than waiting."

"Alright. It's not far."

We got into his car and set off, and as he drove away I ventured, "Thank you for stopping, by the way. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

He scoffed, "You're not, don't worry. I was going out for rolling papers," he laughed, indicating a small packet of ZigZags carelessly tossed on the dashboard as he continued, "So, no, nothing important."

I returned his laugh but didn't respond further, and we drove the short distance to his house in silence after that. Because, although we had certainly established a tentative friendship by then, there truly had yet to be any opportunity for either of us to test the waters before that point. Aside from a few short and casual conversations at work, we hadn't spoken to one another otherwise, and it seemed that we were both at a loss for words. But even so, the silence wasn't as awkward as I had initially worried it might be, and before I knew it we were pulling into his neighborhood. We got to his house, and he parked in the driveway.

"Garage door's broken," he explained, "I need to go in through the house. You can come in with me if you want to."

I smiled at the offer, "I will, thanks."

We walked together to the front steps, but when we got to the door, Erik paused, "Are you allergic to dogs? Or afraid of them or anything?"

"No, nothing like that."

He nodded, "He's big, but he won't jump."

And without another word, he unlocked the door and stepped aside for me to enter first. When were both inside, I immediately heard the dog's approach, and I smiled again. He _was_ big, but very gentle, politely sitting down in front of me and waiting for attention even as his tail betrayed his excitement. Happy to oblige, I knelt down and gave in to his request.

"He's a sweetheart," I laughed, standing upright again, "I didn't know you had a dog."

"Rex," he supplied, taking off his surgical mask - clearly a habitual gesture, one I was relieved that he didn't abandon for my sake - and explaining, "He's my service dog," then added at my puzzled glance, "I have PTSD."

"From the…" I began, unsure how to finish my thought without accidentally appearing rude, but suspecting my assumption was correct. Erik had been in the Army, and he was heavily scarred from a violent explosion during his service. It made sense that he had been affected so significantly by his experience.

He only nodded, pointedly changing the subject then by saying, "Hold on here a minute, I shouldn't be long," and walked further into the house.

I did so for a time, patting Rex every now and again as I waited - but he soon lost interest and ran off, and it wasn't long afterward that my attention was drawn elsewhere. I didn't want to be impolite by exploring on my own, but I couldn't help noticing the rest of the house from my vantage point in the small foyer. It was a respectably sized home for one man, and outwardly very beautiful. But at first glance, it seemed almost unlived in, staged like a model home with little reflection of its owner's tastes. I don't know what I _had_ been expecting, but I thought that Erik's home would at least give me a better idea of him, another one of the clues that I had been steadily gathering since we first met. My own apartment was cluttered by little physical representations of myself - walls lined with old pictures of friends and family, books overflowing from the shelves, every sort of useless yet sentimental bauble that I couldn't seem to part with. Erik's home was the opposite - clean, but bare, as cold and impersonal as his locker at the hospital. It wasn't until I walked in further that I saw _anything_ of interest.

His living room, to my immense relief, appeared to be a bit more lived in. I was almost shocked by the contrast I saw between it and the rest of the first floor - there he had several sets of shelves lined with books and music seeming to have no particular system of organization, a piano in one corner, and finally a few pictures on the mantle of the fireplace. Intrigued the most by those, I walked further into the room and took a closer look at them. There was only one of Erik, and at first I almost didn't recognize him - it was a small throw-away camera print of a washed out desert scene where he and a few other men in Army fatigues stood in varying stances, as if someone had surprised them in taking the picture. It was clearly taken during his deployment, and before he had been injured. He was obviously younger, and while he didn't necessarily look _happy_ , there was a distinct lack of the restlessness in his eyes that I was now so familiar with. It was too sad then to consider what his breaking point ultimately was, and so I turned my attention elsewhere. There were other photos to consider, _seemingly_ far less significant than the first - one of an elderly couple that I assumed were Erik's grandparents, another of a small boy with Rex, and one of two more women. That one had a rosary draped over its frame, positioned near the older woman within the photo.

"Which one are you looking at?" Erik asked, startling me. He set down the jumper cables on the eating bar that divided the living room and dining room, and walked in to stand beside me.

I pointed to the picture of the two women, "Who are they?"

"My mother," he said, indicating the appropriate person, then to the woman on the side of the rosary, "My godmother."

"You're Catholic?"

" _They_ were."

"Were?" I asked, dreading the answer as a part of me already suspected what it was.

"They're dead."

"I'm sorry," I said softly, then adding, "What about your father?"

"We don't talk," he said, distinctly uncomfortable and clearly unwilling to elaborate.

"I didn't mean to sneak in here," I said, turning away from the fireplace and realizing that his continued discomfort wouldn't be beneficial to either of us then, and as such I needed to redirect his attention - to make up for my rudeness before we had to leave the house again, "I saw the shelves from the other room. And the piano. I didn't know you could play."

He nodded, now standing stiffly with his arms folded across his chest as he said with forced casualness, "I was a music major once."

"Really?" I asked, genuinely surprised by the revelation, "What changed?"

"Growing up," he shrugged. He didn't respond further then, but rather gestured again toward the shelves, "Is there anything here you like? I wonder what tastes we share."

Taking the hint, I looked at the shelves he indicated. First at the books, noting the varying genres; he had everything from medical texts, to sci-fi, to horror, several classics - everything. I had many of the same copies from each genre at home - with the exception of the surgical textbooks and journals - and I smiled at that, happy to know that we did have something in common outside of medicine after all. And gradually, as I looked around and made my favorable comments and gave my input, his uneasiness faded amid the shared familiarity of those well-read verses. After a time, his stance became more relaxed as he uncrossed his arms, and his doing so was an immense relief for me to witness. By then, he began to gesture more freely, more naturally as he spoke, finally seeming comfortable in his own home, and at that I felt confident in continuing the conversation about his various collections. It seemed that I had been forgiven for prying into his life, and I decided not to mention my faux-pas again as we continued talking, eventually moving to the shelves closer to the piano. His music collection there was just as diverse as his books - although there was an instant as I flipped through the vinyls during which I was absurdly amused to see that he lacked any titles from country artists, and encouraged by our now-easy communication, I told him just that.

"Aren't you from Memphis?" I joked.

Rolling his eyes but not seeming to mind my humor, he pulled out a Johnny Cash album at random and made a show of displaying it, "Happy?"

"That'll do," I said, nodding my approval.

He laughed, "See? I have a lot of everything."

"Will you put some on?" I asked.

Forgetting my broken down car entirely and wholeheartedly enjoying the unexpected time we were spending together, I was more than happy to continue engaging with Erik - to encourage him to be comfortable all the while. Readily accepting my request, he turned and led me to a shelf that held a SiriusXM panel and its components, explaining that he utilized it mostly for background noise, and offered me the opportunity choose a station then. We crouched down together as he showed me the satellite radio system, animatedly explaining the overall setup, the stations he favored, and the ones he wasn't as familiar with. It was the same enthusiasm he extended when explaining certain concepts of medicine to me, namely the ones he had acquired and perfected in his own career. And I realized then that I had never seen that level of enthusiasm - that singular and somehow humanizing trait - applied elsewhere until that day, appearing only faintly at first when we had discussed his books. It was a joy to see it continue then as the morning hours ticked away our time together - to witness his genuine care for music, something so obviously close to his heart, and invite me to share even a glimpse of that passion. Reflecting that, I smiled as I looked through the stations, eventually settling on one of the alternative rock options in an unexpected bout of nostalgia. Almost immediately, I recognized a Maroon 5 song, the lyrics of _She Will Be Loved_ bringing to mind so many memories of San Diego, of high school - of simpler times. And it seemed so very out of place then. I was now twenty-seven years old, living far away from California and studying to become a doctor, and yet I was still taken back to times passed as I remembered every one of that song's lyrics.

As Erik and I stood upright together, I could only laugh as I said, "I haven't heard this in so long, oh my _God_. They used to play it at _every_ dance when I was in high school."

He scoffed, "How fun."

"What, _you_ don't have any fond memories of your high school dances? Of awkward slow dancing and unsanitary chocolate fountains, and that one group of delinquents that always got caught smoking behind the gym?"

"I didn't _go_ to any dances. If anything, I was one of the delinquents behind the gym."

I laughed again, then said in a mock-challenge, "I bet it's just because you can't dance."

"I can."

"Sure."

"Really? You're _really_ going to make this an issue?" he asked, very convincingly sounding appalled. Then without warning, and to my absolute shock, he took me in his arms as he said, "I'll prove you wrong, then."

And in the next instant, we were dancing together.

I had _never_ seen him so carefree, so willing to initiate that much contact or levity within our conversations as he was then - even in past moments throughout our time working together in which we shared some small level of camaraderie. The song continued, and as he led our steps, we moved closer to each other; I draped one arm over his shoulder as he held my opposite hand away from our bodies in a semblance of a waltz. We went on in that fashion together, wordless in our impromptu steps only barely in time to the song, our eyes meeting or darting away from the gaze we shared as one of us laughed for some unnamed reason or another. But all too soon, the song neared its end - yet even so we remained close together in that haphazard semblance of a proper dance just the same; we continued standing in that near-embrace, continued looking at each other, daring the other to move and break the spell that Erik had so suddenly pulled down around us. And there was a moment then - flash no longer than a heartbeat - in which I was absolutely certain that he would kiss me. The questioning, considering look in his eyes was unmistakable, that small hesitation just before making the choice to leap forward. The look _was_ there - tentative yet distinct - and in the next instant, upon coming to that understanding entirely, I believed that I would have allowed him to kiss me if he had chosen to.

But I would never know for sure - the scene was shattered around us when we heard Rex bark, and the front door opened shortly after the dog's commotion. Erik moved away from me then, the unfamiliar new friend and distant colleague once more - but he was kind enough to kiss my hand with a gentlemanly flourish and murmur a _thank you_ before finally stepping away entirely, and I could bring myself to appreciate the gesture even in my strange disappointment. We moved out of the living room by then, and I saw Dr. Khan standing in the foyer with the little boy from the picture on the mantle, whom I now realized was his son. The child ran up to Erik, obviously familiar with him, and Erik lifted him into his arms.

"Why don't you answer your phone?" Dr. Khan asked in a cajoling voice, then noticing me, he said more politely, "I'm sorry, Miss Durant, I didn't know you were here."

"Her car broke down, out by Medieval Times," Erik explained, moving back to the eating bar and picking up the jumper cables with his free hand, as if he had needed to corroborate his words.

"Right," Dr. Khan said, almost suspiciously, though I heard no hint of malice in his voice. Rather, he seemed absolutely amused as he continued, "Well, Sahra sent me to wrangle you and bring you to lunch," then to me, "You can come, too, if you'd like."

I smiled, "Thanks, but I really should just deal with the car and go home."

Erik said to the child in his arms, "Zach, go see Rex," and set him down, then to Dr. Khan, "It's a pass from me, too. I'm going to help with the car and just come home. Tell Sahra thanks, but I have a lot to do here."

As Erik said this, the little boy - Zach, I now knew - approached me shyly. I knelt down to face him more directly, hoping not to appear too intimidating to him. I had no siblings - no real experience with young children at all - but I sincerely enjoyed spending time with them on the occasions that I did have to interact with them. I found Dr. Khan's son to be very adorable, and I was glad that he seemed to have taken a liking to me, hesitant though he had appeared at the beginning. He smiled and said hello - very, very softly - before running off again. I laughed at his antics as I stood upright again, now awkwardly attempting not to get in the middle of Erik's conversation with Dr. Khan as it seemed to be drawing to a close. And then the little boy reappeared; I felt his small hand take mine, and put it in Erik's as he stood beside me. For his part, Erik simply acknowledged the moment by giving mine a short and polite squeeze of acknowledgement, looking back at me almost apologetically before he released my hand. But there was no further recognition of the exchange after that, and I had no way of knowing his interpretation of the matter - of the morning in its entirety, really. Dr. Khan and Zach left shortly after the fact, once all the proper words of parting were exchanged by all in attendance.

By then Erik suggested that we take care of my car and allow our time together to end there. He was not rude in his approach - rather, he just looked very tired by that point, impossibly and inexplicably weary, and I agreed to his suggestion without complaint. But even so, I left the house with him with no small amount of regret, absently wondering exactly what had happened between us as we danced so unexpectedly together in his home - and if anything more would truly have happened had we not been interrupted in the moments that followed.


	7. Take These Broken Wings

**Author's Note:** _Sorry to everyone for the delay with this update. I'm considering tweaking the schedule a bit - perhaps from Tuesdays to Fridays. I will most definitely keep y'all posted. Thank you all for your continued love and support! Please let me know what you think. The title for this chapter is based upon lyrics to the song "Blackbird" by The Beatles, and of course is also the song that inspired the title for this entire story and some of its themes. R &R, and enjoy! _

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Chapter 5 - Take These Broken Wings

Erik

When I returned home after jumping Christine's car battery and seeing her off safely, I was able to give in to and attempt to make some sense of the frenzied thoughts that had been spinning in my mind from the moment our dance ended. To say that I was severely affected by it - by the entire morning - would be an understatement.

At the outset of my encounter with her that day, I truly hadn't expected the circumstances to unfold as they had. I hadn't expected _anything_ of great significance to take place between us, nevermind the level of communication and physical contact we shared. I was supposed to get my jumper cables from the garage and help her continue on her way back to the city - that was all. It was truly uncharacteristic of me to behave that way with another person - especially a colleague - but it all just...happened. Regardless of my feelings or the outward reason behind our unanticipated morning together, the day had played out as it had in spite of my initial motivation to simply be helpful. The dynamics of our friendship had shifted in that relatively short span of time, and thus once she and I had parted ways again, I couldn't stop thinking about her. And those thoughts were _very much_ unlike those with which I had regarded her before. Because something _had_ changed between us. Upon reflection, I believe that it had in fact occurred slowly over time, entirely without the permission of my stress-addled mind - and it spoke volumes about my mental condition at present that I hadn't realized that change sooner. But it was undeniable now; and it was only then that I could no longer lie to myself and believe that what I felt for her was strictly platonic or of a professional nature.

I had no choice but to admit that I had grown fond of Christine during the time we had shared throughout her ER rotation. I could not say exactly _when_ that change of heart had taken place, but that factor didn't make a difference in the end; over the course of the weeks we spent together, the presence of a steadily growing affection became absolutely irrefutable. That much was clear, yet I wanted to believe that my perspective on the subject was strictly as a teacher is fond of a student and nothing more. It _had_ been that way in the beginning; there was no question of that fact - my interest in spending time with her lived entirely in my ambition to foster her education, and on the whole that aspect of our working relationship had been successful and otherwise uncomplicated by outside emotions. But then there was that pivotal point that I realized that I was living in a distant sense of denial where Christine was concerned - that morning we spent together was startling evidence of that fact - and like so many other aspects of my life currently, I just hadn't been expecting to actually come to realize that any change had taken place between us. And when I _did_ finally become aware of it, I didn't want to consider what that fondness might ultimately become if I wasn't careful. I couldn't handle the repercussions then, and ultimately I was left wondering if it might not be easier to pretend that what had transpired as I held her so closely in my living room had either been a fluke, or a fever dream. Because in my mind, there was no feasible way it could have been anything else.

I certainly wasn't head-over-heels in love with her then, but I was beginning to see that the potential was there; and as a result, now there was that _something_ that nagged me. And I let it come to life. It didn't matter that it hadn't been my intention to do so - it had happened all the same because I _let_ it. I had been so focused on her capability as a student and physician, coupled with my pride in her success and determination, that it hadn't even _occurred_ to me that I was steadily growing to care for her more strongly the longer we spent time together. Over those weeks since our first meeting, my fondness for her grew and evolved until it was no longer as a teacher appreciates a talented student. It went well beyond that now, and I hadn't realized it until I was invested far too deeply to put a stop to those feelings. Too late I understood that they were present, that a significant part of me had wanted to act upon them - and nearly _had_.

But I don't know exactly what compelled me to progress as I had that particular morning, why I let our experience go on for so long and evolve into what it did. Maybe it was because, however distantly then, I knew that I wanted it - the dance, the embrace, the physical contact with another person. I understood that a stubborn and innately human part of me knew that I wanted those singular experiences long before I realized it entirely, before I was willing to admit it to myself. And moreover, it seemed that I was overwhelmed by the simple fact that Christine was in my house - speaking to me and interacting with me as an equal, as her friend rather than a colleague. And I had sincerely enjoyed that form of interaction, once I allowed myself to relax and accept it for what it was. For the entirety of her unexpected visit, I could believe that nothing was wrong with me or with my own life outside of the forced stoicism of my work in the hospital. Though in the end, perhaps none of it even mattered. Whatever the reason behind my doing so, I had willingly taken her into my arms that day, feeling somehow more alive than I had in quite a while. Even just talking with her, talking to someone else as if I deserved her company was enough to set my heart racing in her presence, at all the unspoken prospects of what might happen between us. Throughout the encounter, I absurdly felt like I was in high school again - a kid with a crush that I could do nothing about.

Yet that was part of the problem - I _wasn't_ dealing with youthful unrequited love. We were both adults, both entirely capable of our actions and responses to one another. And that made the situation all the more difficult; had I been able to convince myself that she would have outright rejected me - that she had absolutely no interest in me to begin with - I could have put the matter to rest immediately after the fact. But that simply wasn't possible, wasn't in the realm of reality now; I knew that she would have allowed me to continue moving forward if only I had asked her, if I had been brave enough to bridge the expanse of that as yet unspoken attraction between us. I saw it in her eyes - she had made her acceptance abundantly clear. But we were interrupted, and when I returned to my senses I could almost be grateful for that interruption; because all the while, I knew that I couldn't allow anything more to happen between us - not in those moments, and not ever. I couldn't get out of my own damn mind long enough to entertain even the slightest idea of a some sort of future for the two of us, however it might manifest itself. I believed that I wanted it - and that Christine might expect a more traditional approach on my part, because she clearly wasn't as fucking dysfunctional as I was. But I quickly decided that I didn't deserve to pursue anything further, and that I most _certainly_ couldn't handle it even if I did.

I spent the better part of the rest of my day continuously and nearly obsessively thinking about it all. At the forefront of my mind, I couldn't stop considering the singular fact that I had wanted _so badly_ just to kiss her. In the end, I wanted to see all at once what would happen if I did - and yet I still argued with myself that the consequences of doing so would most definitely be worse than the action itself. Tried though I did - and repeatedly so - I just couldn't bring myself to believe that the gesture would've been unwelcome; I _had_ seen the acceptance in her eyes as much as I knew she had seen the intent in mine. I wanted to know where it might lead, but I attempted to force myself not to become too immersed in the cycle of what-ifs. It proved to be a futile effort, and one that left me severely disappointed - because every time, I always arrived at the same conclusion. It would be unwise and unfair to pursue any kind of serious relationship with Christine. Even something of a more casual nature was out of the question - maintaining a friendship with her was daunting enough, and as it stood I was barely handling myself on my own anyway. It seemed almost cruel to bring her that much further into my life if doing so meant she would have to take on my burdens alongside me - and I knew her well enough by then to be sure that she would try. But I continued to torture myself just the same, lost in thought as I paced through the house or chain-smoked on the back deck in an effort to make sense of it all. I was unsuccessful - all I could think about was Christine, of speaking with her, confessing what I had wanted...actually kissing her. It was torture, yet on I mercilessly went with it as the day wasted away and grew colder around me.

No matter what I did, I couldn't let go of that idea - that was the crux of it. I had asked her to dance, I had flirted with her, and I had wanted to kiss her. Because I knew there could be more, that she seemed to want what I did - and I knew that she would let me move forward. I saw my interest in her returned - but as much as we might have shared that interest, she simply couldn't want me. She _shouldn't._ The bitter reality of what I had once again allowed myself to become came crashing down around me as I dwelled on the circumstances in the deafening silence of my house, more powerfully so then than it had in the preceding weeks.

The drinking held me back - that wasn't necessarily the only reason behind my extreme hesitance where Christine was concerned, but it was certainly one of the more glaring factors that ultimately stayed my hand. As time passed and the habit worsened, denial was no longer an option for me - I couldn't continue being a bystander to my own destruction. But I couldn't allow another person to get caught up in that madness, either. Because I knew it was wrong, yet I couldn't stop - I knew it was steadily getting worse, yet in my desperate attempt to control it I did nothing to help myself just the same, and made no attempt to _ask_ for help in spite of ample opportunities to do so. Every day weighed more and more heavily on my mind and on my heart; I hated admitting that even to myself, hated seeing that weakness reemerging after lying dormant for so long. And I hated hiding it, feeling so abysmally alone in that fight. But all the while I tried to convince myself that I was better off alone in my seemingly endless struggle, simply to ease the pain of the truth, that undeniable truth that I was a human and I was fallible; and it was absolutely killing me. I was _letting_ it kill me. But I wanted to do _something_ , so I opted to at least continue dulling the pain entirely on my own, biding my time with the hope that I'd gain a chance take it out before it could defeat me again. But even with the truth laid out before me, I still couldn't bring myself to put a stop to it and repair the damage. It was an absolute nightmare - and I didn't want Christine to have to be a part of that whatsoever.

So in the end, I knew that she would be _far_ better off without me complicating her life and likely breaking her heart when it was all said and done. It would be a mercy on my behalf to fall back into the familiar patterns of professional distance, at least until she moved on from her emergency room rotation. And perhaps then we could forget about what had almost happened, that the time away from each other would ultimately save us both. In my guilty mind, it all made perfect sense. And yet no amount of rationalizing my decision made it any more palatable for me then - I had never wanted my life to become what it had, and for a while I sincerely believed that I was improving; but now it was clear that I was still paying for my mistakes even so.

~~oOo~~

The chaos of my increasingly more embittered thoughts was only interrupted when Nadir came over again that evening. When he arrived _that_ time around, I had actually been expecting him. By then, I had thankfully had the presence of mind at least to turn the volume on my phone back up, and therefore didn't miss his call informing me of his intention to stop over after having dinner with his family. And it was a damn lucky thing that I did answer the phone when he called, or he likely would have just walked into my house and snuck up on me again; under more favorable conditions, I enjoyed his company well enough - but that day his habit of arriving at my front door unannounced and walking right through it anyway was unacceptable. I couldn't risk him seeing me in the state I had been in since Christine and I had parted ways. And moreover, I couldn't risk him witnessing the turmoil that the situation had created in me - I didn't want him discovering the factors behind it. He had already been suspicious of Christine's presence in my house to begin with, and I the last thing I needed was for him to worry over the state of mind her company and new revelations had thrown me into. As it stood, I knew we would at least be discussing her superficially; and while I knew he valued professionalism far too much to gossip to others about what he'd seen, that didn't mean he was above giving me hell over the outward circumstances he had witnessed in the relatively private confines of our friendship. That alone was enough for me to force myself to be mindful of my behavior when he and I spoke again.

In fact, a part of me suspected that a strong reason for his need to come over that night was specifically to get answers, and we had hardly just settled at the eating bar in my kitchen when that suspicion was proven entirely correct.

"So, I'm sure _you_ had a fun afternoon," he said lightly, having barely greeted me otherwise and wearing the shit-eating grin of a man that believed he had caught someone else in a compromising situation. Serious physician though he was to the rest of the world, outside of our profession he was simply my friend, and it was rare anymore that he got to act accordingly. I wasn't surprised that he was relishing in the opportunity now.

"Do you want coffee?" I asked, pointedly standing again and moving to the kitchen side of the bar's countertop in an attempt to evade his questions for as long as possible, "Or if you don't want the caffeine I have - "

" - No coffee at all. Thanks, though. But what I _do_ want is for you to tell me about earlier."

I sighed, accepting defeat. Deciding then on making my own drink and busying myself with the task, I could only roll my eyes at his behavior as I said dismissively, "I know what you're implying, Nadir. Knock it off."

"I'm not _implying_ anything, but I'm not an idiot - "

" - That's debatable - "

" - And I get the idea that I interrupted something."

I gave a sardonic smile as I responded, "I guess we'll never know."

"Look, I _only_ want to know why a med student was here in the first place."

"Did we break some kind of rule?" I asked wearily, distantly focusing on the coffee maker in front of me and hitting its side when it decided to malfunction. I was _seriously_ regretting allowing Nadir to come over then.

Stubbornly unwilling to let the issue lie, he stood and leaned casually over his side of the countertop, still seemingly unaware of my discomfort as he spoke, "You didn't break any rules, I just thought it was interesting."

Looking back at him, I said, "I already told you before, her car broke down."

"Lucky you were around to help, then," he mused, that same suggestive tone in his voice, "How'd that happen?"

I shrugged before snapping sarcastically, " _Deus ex machina_ , I don't know. It really was just good timing, I was coming back from the liquor store down on - "

" - The liquor store? Why were you _there_?" he interrupted sharply, all humor disappearing from his demeanor at my perceived admission of guilt.

"Shit, calm down. I needed rolling papers," I said defensively. Because although he _was_ more than justified in voicing his suspicions - his very real concerns for my wellbeing - I hadn't actually lied to him then. My own supply of alcohol had already been secured, and unbeknownst to him was hidden safely in a low cabinet where he couldn't accidently stumble upon it at any point during his visit. But there was no way in hell I would let him know that - and besides, it didn't outwardly have anything to do with the situation at hand, and I hardly had any reserve of patience left to even begin to address the topic of my astonishingly poor judgment. As uncomfortable as attempting to clarify the reason for Christine's presence earlier that day was for me, confronting my alcoholism would undoubtedly be a far worse conversation, and one that I sincerely wasn't ready for. So, selfishly and like the coward I was, I decided that it was better to steer Nadir away from _that_ line of questioning.

"Sorry. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright," he said, and I hoped he didn't notice my guilty flinch as he regained his lighter humor and continued, "Still, the two of you seemed cozy here," he said before he raised his hands in a gesture of supplication, "That's all I'm saying."

I sighed again, struggling to find an explanation that wouldn't raise further suspicions, "We were just...I guess we lost track of time."

He considered me silently before that jackass grin appeared again, "You like her."

"Stop talking."

"I'm right," he said, seemingly very proud of himself for coming to that conclusion. And really, it wasn't as if it wasn't _obvious_. By then, it seemed that there was no point anymore in denying what he had interrupted - he had seen the evidence for himself just hours earlier, and it was likely still very clearly written on my face as we spoke; there was no changing that fact.

"Does it _matter_ if you're right?" I said defeatedly, "Nothing's going to happen."

He paused for a moment, "But do you _want_ something to happen?"

 _Yes…_

"No."

"Why not? She seems like a great person. Hell, she puts up with _you_. And there's no reason you two can't be together. It happens all the time, doctors date other doctors, or nurses, or the cops that hang out all the time - "

" - Nadir, she's a student," I excused weakly.

"Sure, but she's not _your_ student. Is that all you're worried about? You're not evaluating her work or assigning her cases. Really, so long as you act professionally at the hospital, there's no conflict of interest at all."

I shook my head, turning away once more to look at the coffee slowly brewing into the pot and feeling desperate for my words to be spoken with conviction, "It's bigger than that. I just...I don't want to date her. I don't want to date _anyone._ I can't right now."

"Why?"

 _Why..._ I knew the answer well enough, had spent the day convincing myself exactly _why_ I couldn't chance a relationship with Christine. It would have been so easy to tell Nadir then - to tell him all of that and more. When he asked why I couldn't take that significant step forward in my life, I could have easily answered, _Because I'll only hurt her. Because I started drinking again, and it's getting worse, and I'm afraid. Because I have no idea what to do with myself now, and I need help_. I could have said just that - and I should have, I knew that much. By all logic and any last possible shred of a sense of responsibility I might have still had left, I should have told him exactly what was happening with me, and exactly why that step backward had happened so abruptly again. I should have begged for the help that I very badly needed, for the forgiveness I probably didn't deserve for not telling him far sooner when I damn well knew better. Whatever was going to happen to me if I continued on my familiar path of destruction the way I was, I couldn't face alone. Not again. It would only escalate - time and time again it had escalated, and the last time had been absolutely devastating and very nearly irreversible. I couldn't allow it to happen again. But I couldn't bring myself to admit the truth to my friend, either. I didn't want to scare him...and I didn't want to disappoint him. And thus, once again I found myself at a standstill, paralyzed into silence when faced with the truth.

So I responded instead with a lie, my gaze still averted as I forced my voice to be steady, "I just need to settle down here for a while longer."

He sighed, but said, "If you're sure. You're going to miss something good, though."

 _Believe me_ , I thought bitterly, _I'm painfully aware of that._

"I guess we'll never know," I repeated.

He was silent for a time, considering me steadily before he asked again, "Erik, are you _sure_ everything's alright?"

"Yes," I said, forcing confidence once more, leaving no room for argument even as the dregs of my surviving logic screamed at me to stop, "Everything's fine."

He only nodded in response before sitting back down and moving on to another conversation - thankfully, one of a more neutral topic.

Remaining on my side of the eating bar, I poured my coffee and stared idly into it every now and again as we whiled away the rest of the evening together. It wasn't long before he eventually had to leave again, but I was grateful all the while for that change of pace he offered after that initial discussion - while I never quite _relaxed,_ I was able to calm down enough to carry my side of the conversation without causing Nadir any alarm at my behavior. I just didn't want him knowing too much then - for the time being, it was easier to live with my lies alone than to face up to a truth that once again had the power to destroy me. As it stood, I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen to me, or with Christine, or how to move on from any of those junctures - but until I found some way to work it all out, my stubborn insistence of my continued wellbeing would have to be enough to keep me treading water.

~~oOo~~

Christine

Erik and I didn't speak more than necessary once we made it back to my car and proceeded to fix the battery together. He wasn't necessarily rude in any way during that time - but he had grown distinctly quieter in the wake of his recent easiness with me, seeming to forcefully revert back once again to the reserved demeanor he possessed when we first met. Though all things considered, I couldn't say that I was surprised - it made perfect sense that he might be overwhelmed by the events of the morning. It seemed that we both were. I couldn't even guess in order to understand his thoughts on the matter, and likely wouldn't for some time. For my part, I only knew then that I was still rather disappointed that our time together had ended so abruptly, that it had raised so many questions now left unanswered regarding our friendship. When I finally got home, however, I _did_ have chance to step back and truly examine what had almost happened between us that day, and at the very least it quickly became clear to me that there was far more to our relationship now than the simplicity of companionship. And just as I had found myself ready to accept his advances before, I determined that I couldn't count that larger realization as negative by any means - rather, I was relieved to come to that understanding after spending so long getting to know him, hoping to grow closer all the while. Friendship had been all that I had in mind then, but new developments were not unwelcome.

By then, I knew that we held a mutual attraction for one another, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to know if anything could possibly come of that attraction. As our working relationship and friendship alike grew stronger, so did the notion that we each wanted something beyond those simple interactions, could have easily had more if either of us would have been daring enough to take that next step. _But_...I knew just as well that I needed to momentarily pause and allow us both to process that significant turn of events in its due time. Nothing was guaranteed or set in stone - nothing had truly been voiced yet. I understood Erik well enough to know that he was not an easy person to become close to; even if I made my attraction blatantly known to him, doing so would not instantly ensure that we would immediately enter into a relationship as a result, that he would even be willing to reciprocate beyond the relatively innocent flirtation that he had displayed. And at any rate, it seemed that it would very likely come to pass that I had to be the one take that first leap of faith - though at that point I couldn't even begin to know how. But ultimately, I just had to remember to be patient from then on. I didn't want a single misstep or careless word to shatter the relationship we already had - I valued it too much to potentially fall victim to immature pining or games, and we were both too old and too set in our habits of professionalism to behave so recklessly anyway.

But still, at the very least I wanted to know once and for all where we stood - if there actually was anything to it to begin with - before anything else could happen.

Erik, however, gave no outward sign that he meant to discuss what had taken place between us any time soon. In the days that followed, I wouldn't go as far as saying he was distant, but rather that he seemed more wary, more intentionally mindful of his words and actions around me. And instead of initiating any sort of private discussion with me to navigate our feelings for one another, his concern at the outset of my last week in the emergency department was strictly to ensure that I concluded my time in my ER rotation strongly. It was essential that I remained in Dr. McArt's favor all the while, and rationally I knew that it was in my best interest to follow Erik's lead in that regard. Affairs of the heart could be thrilling - but they could also be terribly distracting for all involved, and I was in no position to allow that form of distraction to affect any other aspect of my life and career. And certainly not when I remembered why Erik and I had come to know each other in the first place. I wouldn't have even met him to in the first place if I hadn't made the decision to become a doctor, and I was at a pivotal point in my education by the time anything had even remotely happened between us. And so, bearing that in mind it was simple enough to set everything else in the world outside the hospital aside in favor of my continued success, and as such I couldn't truly bring myself to be hurt by Erik's distance - not when put in the proper context. I knew that it wasn't necessarily a slight against me, but rather served as a means to see me continue to learn and thrive in my education.

Med school simply had to continue to be my priority - and, remembering my determination and the years it had taken me to reach that point, I was not compelled to argue.

The third or so shift of my last week in the emergency room was relatively uneventful - I spent the majority of that day taking full advantage of any chance to study or to practice the skills I had attained during my time there, and on the whole I was successful in doing so. Although Dr. McArt had become far less indifferent regarding our required interactions, he had done little to change his overall approach to teaching me - his most notable improvement was that he did insist that I shadow him more often near the end of my rotation, explaining that he did so in order to properly consider and write the evaluation that would determine whether or not I had sufficiently met the requirements of that segment of my schooling. I had nearly responded very rudely to that assertion, having it in mind to say that he _should_ have been doing so for the entirety of my time with him. But I bit my anger back simply to maintain the professionalism necessary in our student-teacher dynamic - and besides, I didn't want to do or say anything that would alter his favorable view of me, not when I was so close to the end. And so instead, I simply remained on my best behavior, worked on the cases I was permitted to assist with, and reminded myself all the while that my frustrations served a grander purpose.

Near the end of that week, I was certainly exhausted, though no more than was standard for the profession. But the weariness I experienced was only accelerated that much further when what began as a relatively slow day in the department picked up, and with a vengeance. The patient load soon became almost overwhelming, and every available attending, resident, student, and nurse was required to work on several cases at once. Such a phenomenon had certainly happened long before that day, and more than once - we were all capable of handling it as efficiently as our respective skills would allow. Doing so _was_ difficult for me at first, but eventually I managed to balance my ability to assist Dr. McArt in treating each patient.

It wasn't until a particularly graphic case came about that I experienced any doubt that the day wouldn't end in a fatality. A man was brought into the ER after a construction site accident involving extremely sharp blades and heavy equipment - we were only given the barest and most vital details of the incident by the EMTs that brought the man in, but it was immediately clear that he had essentially been very nearly disemboweled by the accident. And it was certainly very unsettling to see, to hear his screams before we were able to treat his pain - not for the first time I was grateful that I wasn't necessarily squeamish even in my relative inexperience. But even so, his injuries were difficult to look at while we assessed him and began to set the proper treatment in motion. Erik had been required to work on that case with us off-and-on, having no choice but to balance his own patient load and needing to manage his time between each of the connected trauma rooms. On the whole, it was an exceedingly difficult day for all involved, but eventually the chaos settled down enough to give us all the upper-hand - the patient that Dr. McArt and I helped to work on had survived, though only barely. Others, I would later regrettably find out, weren't so fortunate, and it was an unspoken relief to everyone in the department when the patients we had were treated accordingly and the flow of the incomers stabilized once again to an amount that was far more manageable. It was only then that several of us were permitted to step aside.

Desperately needing the time away by then, I made my way to the doctor's lounge with the hope of catching my breath for a moment in the event that the amount of incoming patients picked up again. When I arrived, I wasn't surprised to see Erik sitting at the table - the room was otherwise empty, and when that happened he usually preferred to hide out there rather than having to go all the way outside to win his solitude. Besides our brief encounter with my trauma patient and when we met after shared shifts to review cases in keeping with our routine, I hadn't seen much of him before that point - certainly not outside of the hospital. As such, I was happy to have a chance to spend even a potentially brief amount of time with him. It seemed like it might be my only immediate opportunity then to perhaps talk to him about something beyond work - namely, the previous Sunday spent together at his house, the dance and all its implications that remained unaddressed. But I quickly thought better of going down that line of potential topics of conversation. When I sat down across from him, I realized that he didn't look well, that he seemed to be attempting to nurse a headache as he sat before me rather tensely, wordlessly glancing up and giving a stiff acknowledging nod to my presence as he did so. And so for his sake, I opted instead to keep the conversation more neutral.

"Can I get you anything for that?" I asked, motioning toward his hands at his temples.

He shook his head, "I already took something," he said, and gestured to the coffee mug in front of him, "And the caffeine helps anyway," he sighed before lowering his hands and looking at me more directly, "Did your 'man versus buzzsaw' patient make it?"

I nodded, "He's up in surgery now. As far as I know, he's still hanging on."

"That was a literal bloody mess."

"Probably the worst I've seen," I agreed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and I sincerely appreciated his gesture. After the emotional distress I had faced following the loss of my terminally ill pneumonia patient and the conversation that followed, Erik had made it a point to ask after my wellbeing following cases that were exceptionally upsetting in order to help me learn how to manage myself and to encourage better long-term habits as a physician. His doing so proved to be a useful outlet in the numerous situations that followed the first - I had certainly held many similar discussions with fellow med students on the subject that benefited us all, but having the input of a far more experienced doctor when my own resident wasn't available was invaluable.

Considering this, I nodded again, "I think I'm getting used to it. Is that bad?"

He laughed humorlessly, "Not necessarily. I mean, you shouldn't _enjoy_ cases like that, but you have to be able to work effectively. Remove yourself in the moment and deal with it all later."

"I'm just looking forward to oncology," I sighed, "It seems less...messy. I don't know how you can be a trauma surgeon," I said, then teased, "You're part of an elite corps."

He half-smiled at that - almost sadly, still seeming to be weighted down by the efforts he had extended that day - but didn't respond. Instead he asked, "How's your last week going?"

"Too fast, too slow," I shrugged, "It's hard to describe. This is only my first rotation, but I feel like I've been here forever."

"Long hours will do that to a person. Just wait, it gets worse. You'll get to graduation but feel like you're ready to retire. What department are you working in after this?"

"Psyche for a month, then pediatrics," I said, then added with mock-enthusiasm, "Just in time for Christmas."

"That's fucking depressing."

"I've heard that. Is it difficult?"

Looking down at his hands on the table, he considered before responding, "It's just hard to see kids in a hospital. It's sad, and they're so out of place here."

"What about the psyche rotation? Is _that one_ difficult, too?"

"It's...emotionally demanding," he said, still looking away from me.

"I just hope I can help someone while I'm there," I sighed again, "Hopefully I can handle it…The whole thing, I mean."

"You can," he insisted, then pointedly moved past the subject, "Which rotation comes after Christmas?"

I smiled, knowing he'd favor my answer, "Surgery."

He returned the smile, "Challenging. I think you'll do well, though."

"I hope so. I can't afford to fuck anything up now."

"You won't fuck anything up, Christine," he said firmly, though he maintained his humor even as he spoke the unorthodox words of encouragement.

I simply nodded my acceptance, pausing to reflect for a moment before continuing, "I think I'll miss being down here, though."

"If you do, then you're a masochist."

"No," I laughed, "I'm just sentimental."

He scoffed, "Apparently."

"But admit it," I continued, "You'll miss me being here, too."

"I'm sure I will," he said a bit more seriously, yet almost hesitantly so as he met my eyes directly once again, "Actually, I think we should - "

But I didn't have the chance to comprehend the abrupt change in his demeanor as his words were cut off - whatever it was that he meant to say to me, I would never know. We were roused by the sound of our pagers going off in unison, a clear sign that the peace of the afternoon had once again been broken by some incident or another that required as many hands as possible. After one final apologetic glance in my direction, Erik stood, seeming to effectively drive any lingering thoughts of our conversation from his mind as he did so. From there, we wordlessly left the room and separated beyond the threshold. Because no matter how badly I wanted us to discuss the changing dynamics of our relationship - even just to simply share in his company - work unarguably had to come first.

~~oOo~~

On what was officially the last day of the emergency department rotation, each of the students were handed the envelope containing our evaluations toward the end of our shifts. There was no pomp and circumstance to accompany the passing on of those envelopes, no grand gestures or outward signs that _anything_ significant was taking place - it was simply the official document changing hands to the appropriate person. But the mingled nervousness and excitement among the students was nearly tangible just the same, and I wasn't surprised upon making that observation then that our superiors had waited until very near the conclusion of the workday to give us our evaluations; we would likely have been too distracted to function efficiently otherwise. Instead, the process was intentionally delayed, and once it was set in motion we were simply instructed to read our results over when we had the time. As such I could only wait anxiously until we once again had a lull in the incoming patients before I could find the necessary time away to read over mine. My forced patience paid off soon enough, and the long-awaited break granted me an opportunity to keep myself away from the department for a little while - either until I was needed again, or until the _official_ end of my shift.

In order to properly thank him for the immense opportunity he had given me in his offer of assistance, it had been my hope to open my evaluation with Erik. I wanted to mark the occasion with my own kind of formality, and I had a very specific venue in mind for the occasion. But as it turned out, I was unable to find him on my own, and I was too restless and impatient to put much effort into doing so as it stood. So for the sake of making my escape in a timely manner, I simply decided that it would be far easier to leave a message with the admit desk to inform him to meet me up on the staff section of the roof.

In spite of my nervousness regarding what the envelope tucked haphazardly into my pocket would mean for the rest of my education, the wait admittedly wasn't as daunting as I had initially assumed it would be. Although it was nearing sunset by the time I made it upstairs, and the air held the distinct chill of late-October in the steady breeze, the sunshine still held enough power from the preceding hours to make the open air tolerable. Walking out into it, I found myself calming down substantially - although not _entirely_ , under the circumstances - at the prospect of taking in the fresh air and lingering warmth that surrounded me. Settling myself down on the wooden bench that seemed to have replaced the now-broken lawn chairs nearby, I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sky, willing my very unwarranted fears of Dr. McArt's words to get lost in the wind and the sounds of the city below me. I hadn't returned to this section of the rooftop since my first day there, but being reminded of the strange sort of tranquility it inspired, I made a note to myself to return more often during the time spent working through my remaining rotations. I was grateful that such a place existed at all, and I was sure that I would continue to need the stolen moments in that refuge. It was only the sound of the roof-access door opening and slamming shut again that drew me from my meditation, and once I opened my eyes I turned to see that Erik had indeed gotten my message. In spite of being pulled from my thoughts, I couldn't help but smiling at his relatively timely arrival.

"Why'd you want me up here?" he asked as drew closer, taking off his surgical mask as he walked over and sat beside me in the shared break area.

Still smiling, I turned to greet him as he politely positioned himself to face me more directly. We had never been given an opportunity to finish the conversation we began in the doctor's lounge earlier that week - but though I still sensed a kind of forced reservation from him in the few interactions that followed, he remained otherwise approachable, once again acting more as a friend outside of the necessary professionalism he employed during our encounters at work. That friendship reflected in his eyes now, in the easier way he carried himself, and I was glad to see that familiarity in him again. Although it was new and relatively short-lived, I truly had missed its presence.

"I was here with you the first day of my rotation," I responded, explaining myself determinedly, "and I wanted us to be here on my last," then added, "I got my evaluation sheet."

"Good," he nodded, seemingly amused by the reason behind my chosen location for our meeting as he asked, "What did it say?"

"I haven't opened it yet," I admitted, gesturing to the pocket of my lab coat.

He raised an eyebrow as he said, "It's useless there."

"I was waiting for _you_ ," I teased lightly, making a show of removing the envelope from its hideout and revealing it to him. He only smiled in return as I unfolded it, hesitating as I began to tear the seal. Rather, I made my decision in a haste, "Wait...I want you to read it first."

"Why?"

"I'm too afraid," I said in a rush, holding the seemingly innocent document out for him, "It's like waiting for a college acceptance letter, I'm not ready to read it yet. Please?"

With an expression of mock-annoyance, he took the offered envelope from my hand without another word, gripping it and the paper within tightly against the wind and did as requested. It seemed like hours had gone by as his eyes skimmed over the page - though rationally I knew that the passing time wasn't nearly as dramatic as it felt. But that sensation of impatience skewing reality only led to further mounting my renewed nervousness. I knew it was foolish and unfounded, of course - I was aware that I was well-respected in the emergency department and known for working exceptionally hard at applying my skills efficiently. And while Dr. McArt certainly lacked some of the finer points of teaching expertise, he _was_ a competent enough physician; I was almost entirely sure that he wouldn't be so irresponsible as to ignore any recommendations from his superiors about his student. Yet at the same time, he was also known for his scathing reviews of past students - some of which had caused significant setbacks with for those students' graduation dates - regardless of how well they performed under his guidance or what other employees thought of them. It was for _that_ reason alone that I was terrified that I had adequate cause to doubt that I would receive a positive evaluation after all. But Erik thoroughly surprised me when he looked up from the page and met my eyes again, a sly half-smile replacing his formerly serious expression.

"You passed with flying colors," he said almost smugly, handing me the letter then to see for myself.

Heart pounding in excitement, I read the words that served as physical and undeniable proof of my first successful rotation - the piece of evidence that meant that my career choice and the countless hours of work and practice I had applied to it had not been in vain. There had been so many times during that process when I had sincerely believed that I would fail the program, that at the end of the day I just didn't truly possess the skills and fortitude necessary to become a doctor. Even on the days that I _did_ perform well, when I surpassed my peers and thoroughly impressed my superiors, I was still prone to becoming overwhelmed and discouraged by the process and demands of the education required to enter into the field of medicine - so much so that I had convinced myself in the middle of so many sleepless nights that a particularly good day was nothing more than a fluke, and a bad day set the true standards of my performance and potential. I hadn't admitted as much to anyone at that point, but that recurring doubt was what had kept me awake worrying during those particularly bad nights since I began working within the hospital. But, to my immense relief, the paper in my hand said otherwise; it contained words of praise and high commendations among the standard list of notes for improvement, and the gravity of it was not lost upon me then.

I was ready to move on to my next rotation - I was ready because I _had_ done well from the start, and I was more confident then than ever that I would continue doing so. I worked hard, and relentlessly so - and moreover, I had been taught well. It was no secret to all involved that the resident assigned to teach me was not in fact always the physician responsible for imparting so many necessary lessons on my behalf. It was Erik to whom I owed at least some credit for my success then, and I was grateful that I had followed through with my idea to ask him to meet me that day on the roof - to share this moment in the place where the dynamics of our working relationship had first been defined and had set into motion more than either of us had expected.

"This says I passed this rotation," I said slowly, testing the words and allowing my thoughts to catch up to the significance of reality. Taking a deep breath, I tore my eyes from the paper to meet Erik's again, "I actually did well here."

" _I_ knew that much," he said casually, but his smile betrayed his outward indifference.

I laughed, "Oh, I'm sure you did. But, you know, I wouldn't have gotten _this_ kind of evaluation without you."

Still smiling, he narrowed his eyes as he responded, "Not necessarily. I only gave you information and structure. _You're_ the one that applied what you learned. You earned this."

"At any rate, you at least saved me from a bad resident. Seriously, Erik, thank you."

"You're welcome. Congratulations, Christine. We'll make a doctor out of you yet."

Elated to the point of distraction, I could only laugh at his words as I threw my arms around his neck in an abrupt embrace, one made slightly awkward by the way we were sitting side-by-side. Yet in spite of the levity between us in those moments, it was immediately clear that he wasn't expecting my actions and therefore hadn't responded initially; rather, he stayed frozen in my arms at first, seeming shocked into absolute immobility before finally relaxing. And then slowly - almost cautiously - he finally brought his arms around me to return the gesture. It was the first time we had been that close to one another and shared that much physical contact since the morning we had danced in his living room. I didn't want that connection to end, didn't want to consider whether or not something like that would happen again any time soon. I only wanted to remain in his arms for as long as possible, sharing in the private celebration of my success, in the whirlwind of emotions the day had seemed to evoke in us both. We stayed that way for some time before I finally parted us, just enough to look at him without pulling away entirely - and in a split-second, I made my decision. Before I could consider it further and potentially change my mind, I leaned in closer and kissed him.

It was simply a quick touching of our lips, but I made it a point to linger just long enough to ensure that my intentions _certainly_ could not be mistaken. But Erik pulled away slightly just after the fact, seeming once again to freeze in confusion after he had done so. And for a terrifying flash of seconds I wondered if I had been wrong the entire time about the nature of our regard for one another, about the meaning he ascribed to the moments when we had danced together that had inspired me to set out on this path. But in the next instant, I adamantly refused to allow myself to second-guess any longer. I _knew_ what I felt between us wasn't simply a figment of my imagination, something fleeting and insubstantial borne of an immature crush or mistaken gestures. I couldn't adequately describe it then, but somehow I knew without a doubt that there was simply far more to it than that - and so I waited, holding his gaze in my own as I did so. Because while whatever came of my actions remained to be seen - we would face it all when the time came, I was sure - for the moment, I simply needed to know where we stood once and for all. So, steeling myself as I willed my confidence to return to me, I watched the play of emotions flash within his eyes, the decision to respond made briefly and yet seemed to take an eternity to reach just the same.

When we kissed again, it was Erik that initiated the gesture - quickly so, as if he feared changing his mind before ultimately closing the space between us - and before our lips met for the second time, I smiled inwardly upon noting that he was far more graceful in his movements than I had been. With an unmistakable air of determination, yet gently so all the while, he took my head in his hands and pulled me close once again as he kissed me; his lips moved slowly and sweetly against mine then. It seemed that he had been waiting for that gesture of affection to take place as long as I had been, and as we continued on I knew that what I had seen in his eyes not even a week before had not been the product of my own imagination. Sitting by his side securely in his arms, holding him just as closely as we were surrounded by the roaring city below and the arriving sunset around us, I knew that I didn't want to be anywhere else then. Countless seconds passed before we parted again, and as we did so he closed his eyes and touched his forehead to mine, seemingly unwilling to break away from the moment sooner than was absolutely necessary.

We remained in that wordless embrace for an immeasurable span of time before the sound of his pager broke through each of our thoughts and ultimately forced us to part, albeit reluctantly. He sighed and pulled further away, taking the still-piercingly beeping pager from his pocket and looking at the device as if it had insulted him.

"It's the ER. I have to take this," he said ruefully.

"I know," I nodded, "I understand."

"I'm sorry, " he stood and took a slight step back before me, taking my hands in his as he did so and said, "Thank you for doing this."

"I've wanted to - " I began as the pager went off again, and I shook my head as I reminded myself that we still both had shifts to work through, "Nevermind. Go ahead."

He nodded, "We _should_ talk about this, though. Give me about an hour and come find me downstairs."

"I will," I said, forcing a smile and hoping to ease his reluctance to leave.

Before he moved to turn away, he leaned down and kissed me again - a quick and familiar expression of parting, and I smiled at the gesture as he made his way back to the roof access door.

Even after he had gone, I opted to remain in the seclusion of the break area, now very much needing the freedom to collect my thoughts in private. The time spent there passed entirely uninterrupted, much to my immense relief. Whatever emergency had required Erik's presence downstairs clearly hadn't involved numerous patients - if no one had seen it necessary to page me as well, I decided that it was safe to assume that the situation was handled, that few if any of the students were needed for the time being, especially so close to the end of our shifts. As such, I didn't feel guilty for continuing to separate myself from the rest of the hospital for a time. Bearing that in mind, I decided that it wouldn't do any harm to remain on the roof for a little while longer, knowing that it would serve me well as a place to sit in silence and continue to attempt to absorb everything that had happened during my time there - my shining evaluation, the thrilling prospect of moving on to the next rotation...the kiss that Erik and I had finally shared. It was all almost too overwhelming to take in all at once, and I was grateful that my own shift was nearly over simply for the fact that the relative free time allowed me to give my thoughts free reign over my mind. I could simply be distracted without risking harm to anyone - it was a rare occasion and an absolute luxury that I could do so anymore.

I sighed as I leaned my head back to look up at the sky, absently searching for shapes in the clouds as I did so. Under the developing circumstances, I had to wonder what was going to happen next between Erik and I, if anything would come out of what we had just shared at all. A more serious relationship hadn't been my intention at the outset of our friendship, but in the end it was beginning to sense to progress that way. Yet admittedly, the idea was somewhat daunting just the same. My last relationship had been with Raoul, and it had ended in absolute disaster. I didn't like to think about those days often anymore, but I reflected then that it was by no small feat that he and I had been able to repair and continue maintain our friendship after the fact. I _was_ still happy to say that we were friends, of course, and I treasured his companionship - but even so, I hadn't been ready or willing to open my heart to anyone else after that stressful termination of our affair, nevermind that med school alone kept me busy enough as it stood. Dating anyone had simply been out of the question for the longest time, an unrealistic and admittedly intimidating personal endeavor. But when the notion came about with Erik, my perspective was suddenly different. For him, I could allow myself to believe that we might have a chance at something better - and I wanted to take that chance with him. I didn't still didn't yet exactly _how_ , only that I would be willing to try if he was. That much I could determine based on the evolution of our friendship over the several weeks I had known him.

And now I only needed to make him aware of that fact.

In the time that passed since we parted, I simply determined that I would tell him exactly how I felt, how my regard for him had changed, and hope that my doing so would be well-received on his part. That was all I could do, and it seemed like a fair enough approach to our shared situation as a whole.

It was only when the hour that Erik had requested was nearly spent that I returned downstairs to search for him as promised. It wasn't long before I found him waiting for me in the on-call room, seeming to have chosen that space for its remote location from the rest of the department and inherently relative privacy it offered as a result. But as soon as I saw him, I noted with some confusion a drastic change in his demeanor, one that I somehow knew without having to be explicitly told hadn't been the result of an upsetting trauma case - I could see it in his eyes, an expression within them nearly akin to pain. Though he was leaning against the desk with an air of forced casualness, he stood with his arms folded tightly over his chest in what appeared to be an unconscious gesture of self-preservation - the exact opposite of how he held me when we kissed, but rather the same one I had previously noted that he employed countless other times before that day. I believed that he was barely aware of it, but even so the gesture served as a signal to the rest of the world of his mounting distress. Yet rather than feeling hurt that he had extended it to me, I could only feel sadness on his behalf. I knew that what had happened on the roof couldn't have been easy for him to accept, had known from the start of becoming aware of our attraction that he was a difficult man to grow close to. But still, I wished then that I could see into his heart, that I might in some way be able to cast away even a shred of his loneliness.

He remained in that stance as I closed the door behind me and approached him - his manners distant, his actions closed off and protective all the while. Once again his eyes spoke volumes of regret and remorse over the now-replaced surgical mask. And with no small amount of disappointment on my part in the wake of our very recent connection, I knew then that the looming conversation wasn't going to lead at all where I had hoped it would.


	8. Twisting Knife Turns All By Itself

**Author's Note:** _Thank you to everyone for your support! Let me know what y'all think. The title for this chapter comes from lyrics to the song "Half-Truism" by The Offspring." Please R &R, and enjoy! _

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Chapter 6 - Twisting Knife Turns All By Itself

Erik

The call to my pager that pulled me from the roof turned out to be a case that didn't require my presence for long, and that was somewhat of a relief to me then. I knew that I _would_ have been able to concentrate on my work had it been a more involved trauma, simply for the fact that I had been well-trained and long-practiced in doing so. But that didn't mean my thoughts weren't already thoroughly occupied; I was only human, and I was grateful for that much-needed break in the day - one so rarely presented to me. Freed once again from my duties, I could have returned to Christine upstairs - and I very badly wanted to - but I quickly decided against it. I needed time alone to think, and desperately so. I attempted to seek refuge in the doctor's lounge, but upon arriving I turned away again shortly thereafter - there were students everywhere that day, and therefore there was absolutely no quiet or privacy to be found on my part. The on-call room, however, was deserted, and as such I stole it for myself immediately; I entered before I could be seen and ushered elsewhere, intent upon remaining there either until I was paged again or Christine inevitably came back to the ER. Setting out to pacing around the small room like an agitated animal - my every move reflecting condition of my unsettled mind - everything that happened between us in the last hour or so played back in my memories, a bittersweet slideshow that I was sure I'd never forget.

She kissed me - something that I knew was a long time coming, and something that I had done absolutely nothing to prevent in spite of my better judgment. And I had I returned that kiss on impulse, but willingly all the same. I wouldn't deny either fact. Because, for one insane moment, I knew only that I needed to. I wanted nothing else, and it felt _right_ to do so - as I had suspected it would. And from the moment our lips met on that rooftop, I wanted nothing more than to accept whatever she had in mind for us. I wanted to give her anything and everything she requested - my heart, my commitment...anything she asked would have been hers if she had said the words. If she had been given the chance. I felt then - however briefly or irrationally - that I belonged by her side, ready to throw caution to the wind and brave the unknown; I've _never_ been able to capture that kind of sense of belonging in my life, though not for lack of trying. But with Christine, it almost _did_ seem possible.

Yet the kiss had been a mistake, because I wanted more - I would _always_ want more where she was concerned. I wasn't disappointed or at all upset that she had kissed me; if anything, I was even relieved that she had been the one of us that was brave enough to initiate it - God only knew that _I_ wouldn't have been. I had wanted so badly to know what it would've been like with her, and she had readily granted that opportunity to find out for sure, confirming once and for all everything I assumed that I knew about her regard for me. But even so, at the same time I sincerely wished that she _hadn't_ \- because it would be so much harder now to let her go, to say the words that would sever any chance at something more serious happening before it even truly started. At the end of the day, it just wasn't possible - in spite of my desires and good intentions, I had nothing to give her. And for her sake alone, I _had_ to remember that. I was no more stable now than I was a year ago; in the end, I always remembered that I couldn't guarantee her peace alongside me for long, couldn't even _guess_ how much time I could give her before I finally collapsed in on myself again. Without intervention, I knew well enough that it was coming - but that was _all_ that was assured. At that point in our friendship, Christine knew more about me than most people, but even that relatively limited knowledge certainly wasn't enough to protect her. She didn't know _everything_ , didn't know the essential factors of what brought me to where I was now.

And in being perfectly honest with myself, I had no idea how to introduce her to that part of myself even if I _had_ wanted to. When I looked in the mirror lately, it seemed that I saw two men - the man that Christine knew and cared for, and the one that hid, desperate to fend off fear and shame and hiding out all along. It was _that_ cowardly man that I didn't want her to have to meet - but that side would inevitably have to surface just the same, because by nature I was a powder keg dangerously close to combustion. I couldn't keep feeding her half-truths, nor did I want to. _But_ I didn't want it to end when she uncovered the whole picture, either. She was still ignorant of my problems and the suffering they evoked, and I very much intended to keep it that way. I thought my issues were bad before, but now as an added insult I risked hurting someone besides myself, someone besides Nadir. At least _he_ knew what to expect, understood even a fraction of what led me to make the decisions I had. Christine, however, only knew so much - and she was better off in that forced and carefully constructed blindness. And while that only served to increase my guilt, I knew well enough that anything I could have offered her would have been a half-truth, half a person - and she deserved _far_ better than that.

I had asked her to meet me to talk about what had happened to do just that - or at least to possibly soften the blow she might feel at my intended words, at any rate. But as soon as she found me and walked through the door of my hideout, I very nearly lost my nerve entirely. For an immeasurable span of time, I could only stand there and watch her approach - heartsick and hating myself all the while. She looked so beautiful standing there before me, so excited and full of hope in the handful of seconds before she looked directly at me and seemed to immediately realize what was happening. And once again, I felt terrible for bringing that negativity down upon her in the wake of her happiness. It _wasn't_ right, yet it had to be done.

"You're upset," she stated without preamble, glancing back to ensure that the door was closed all the way before taking a few hesitant steps toward me.

I sighed as I looked down at my arms crossed over my chest, wishing my emotions weren't so obvious - wishing the circumstances were different as I said, "A bit, yes."

"Is it because of what happened upstairs?" she asked, seeming to turn red at the suggestion of a misunderstanding, unwarranted though it was, "I'm sorry, I thought - "

" - I wanted to kiss you, Christine," I insisted. I could only half-smile then - a sad and pained expression - knowing she couldn't see it behind the surgical mask yet hoping still that doing so would show in my voice and relieve some of her embarrassment, "Obviously I did."

She narrowed her eyes, obviously confused as she asked, "Then what's wrong?"

"I don't…" I paused, pushing away from the desk to move closer to her as I weighed my words before speaking them, " I don't think it would be a good idea to let this go any further."

"What do you think _this_ is?"

I looked squarely in her eyes as I responded, "We both know the answer to that."

She laughed humorlessly, "At least I know I wasn't mistaken."

"No, you weren't."

"But if that's the case, then _why_ don't you want this to continue?"

"I can't…" I began, but was quickly rendered unable to form a reasonable enough excuse without having to tell her _everything_ all at once. So I settled for complete bullshit, "It's just complicated."

"How so?" she pressed.

I shrugged absently, still struggling to find the right words, "I don't know how to explain it. It's personal, and it's a problem. But it's _my_ problem, not because I don't want you."

"You're saying, 'it's not you, it's me,'" she said flatly, if not a bit sarcastically.

I could almost laugh at that - _almost_. Ashamed that we had reason to actually come to need that obnoxious turn of phrase, I responded, "I wish it wasn't so cliched, but yes."

"I don't understand _why_ , though."

"There's really no good way to explain," I said helplessly, because that wasn't necessarily a lie then. At the very least, I realized then that it truly wasn't something I could easily justify aloud, even as I had done so countless times in my mind. I certainly _wanted_ to help her understand, to make her see that my reasons were entirely for her sake, but I couldn't do so in those moments. Not properly, and not without too many admissions on my part. Doing so would only make the situation that much more difficult, for her and for myself. And so, unsuccessfully willing my regret away, I shook my head and continued, "I just wish I hadn't let this go one for as long as it has. I didn't want to hurt you."

Flinching at my last words but seeming to pointedly choose to ignore them, she asked, "Why _did_ you let it go this far, then?"

"Because I'm selfish."

"I don't think it's selfish," she said, softening her tone, "I wanted it, too. I still do."

"And if I was smart, I'd ask for this to go further. I'd ask you out, do something nice..."

"But you're saying that you're not smart," she teased lightly.

I smiled sadly at her words, "Exactly."

"You said you had some kind of problem," she said, seeming then to remember the entirety of my statement and now appearing genuinely concerned as she asked, "Are you alright?"

 _No. Not at all._

"Yes," I answered, though likely a bit too quickly to be convincing.

"You can tell me," she insisted, "Even if nothing else happens, you're still my friend. If there's something wrong, at least let me help."

"I'm fine."

Momentarily appeased on that front, she considered me steadily before asking, "Then why hold back?"

"Christine," I began, "I just...we can't let this continue. That's all," I said, taking her hands tightly in my own as I said, "I'm so sorry. I wish - "

Before I could finish - before _either_ of us could speak again - a knock on the door interrupted the conversation, effectively bringing it to a staggering halt before it could be truly concluded. Without waiting for a response, Raoul Chaney opened the door - clearly, for all her efforts to ensure that it was shut, Christine hadn't thought to lock it behind her, and I immediately regretted that I hadn't had the foresight to do so myself either. At the abrupt intrusion, I stepped a decent way away from her, hoping that Chaney wouldn't assume that anything unseemly was happening behind closed doors - and too late I realized that my hastened movement away from the woman beside me likely assured that he would suspect _exactly_ that. But I didn't have the luxury to think about my mistake or its potential ramifications for too much longer - rather, I found myself _exceptionally_ annoyed by his sudden appearance, so much so to forget to be mindful of much else by that point. I had hoped to at least have the chance to have my conversation find a more proper and relatively positive outcome before Christine and I parted ways again. Chaney had diminished that chance; thus, regardless of whether or not the disturbance was intentional - and in all fairness, it likely wasn't - I still wasn't feeling generous enough then to extend him any lingering amount of patience.

"I've been looking for you," he said to Christine, glancing at me only briefly. But I didn't miss the flash of suspicion toward me - even disdain, if I was reading him correctly - in his eyes before he looked back at her. He and I weren't familiar with each other at all by then; he worked well enough with his own resident, but that was really all I could difinitively say about him. Our time together - with the exception of a handful of complicated cases and the day that Christine had recruited him to help with her DNR patient - was otherwise extremely limited, and as such I couldn't judge the nature of his character offhand. I _did_ know that he preferred to avoid me, and for my part I didn't mind that preference at all. I found him to be as annoying and inconvenient as any of the other med students - if not a bit more spoiled than most of the rest of them. And from overheard conversations within the department, I knew that he was Christine's friend outside of the hospital, that they had come to this city from California together to attend med school - though in what manner of _togetherness_ , I couldn't say. With no small pang of jealousy, I realized that I didn't want to think about it. But regardless, beyond those small and seemingly inconsequential details, I knew absolutely nothing else about him; as such, the look in his eyes certainly didn't go unnoticed then - I believed it to be wholly unwarranted, but probably only the result of a cocky-ass med student forgetting his role in the department.

"You could've paged me," Christine responded to him flatly, very much unaware of my thoughts then.

"It's slow, I figured it'd be easier to just find you myself," he shrugged, and I cringed at his unfortunate choice of words as he continued, "Dr. Khan wants all the students to clean out our lockers. Everyone's saying that he makes a big thing about it."

She nodded dismissively, "Fine. I'll be there in a minute."

He hesitated, but finally nodded at her, gave me one last sidelong glance, and retreated - thankfully having the good sense to close the door behind him as he left.

"You should go to that," I sighed, stepping closer to Christine once more, unsure of how else to salvage any kind of meaningful conversation between us then. So I opted for simplicity for the time being, "Khan _does_ make a big deal about the last day of the rotation here. He thinks the sentimentality strengthens your bond as a cohort."

"He's probably right," she agreed, "It's just strange that it's happening today, that the rotation's actually over," she added softly.

"It feels like it's been longer than eight weeks," I noted distantly, once again overwhelmed by just how much actually _had_ happened - none of which I was expecting in the least.

"And a lot changed in that time," she said, looking at me expectantly. But when I didn't respond, she just sighed, "You're not going to change your mind."

"Not on this. I'm sorry."

"I understand," she said, and at my incredulous look, she insisted, "I do, Erik."

"But it isn't what you want."

"No, it isn't," she said, no longer meeting my eyes.

"Please, don't be mad."

"I'm not. But I'm disappointed."

I couldn't find it in me to respond to that; rather, looking at her then, once more I sincerely wanted to take back everything I had thought, all of my reasoning, and just ask her to forgive my short-sightedness. I wanted to kiss her again, walk with her through some park, ask her to dinner - something, _anything_. But I bit it all back again, every last idea of a committed relationship - I couldn't take the risk. That's what it all came down to, and always would - when it was all said and done, no matter what we felt and no matter how our hearts protested, I couldn't take the risk of a single one of my actions harming her. It would be unforgivable, and she deserved better.

But still...I couldn't just let go so easily; I couldn't let the day end as badly as it seemed to be after so many good things had occurred before. I _had_ wanted to maintain the friendship at the very least, after all, and I decided quickly that attempting to do so then and there - in spite of the relatively unpleasant conversation - might be the kind thing to do after essentially rejecting her and putting her through the confusion and embarrassment that she clearly felt. It might be enough to right at least a few of the wrongs I had committed against her. And so, recapturing her attention and holding my hand up in a wordless request for her to wait, I turned back to the desk and found a piece of scrap paper. Mindful to do so somewhat slowly - because my handwriting was nearly impossible to read if I didn't, and I wanted to make absolutely sure that she had the correct information - I wrote my phone number down for her to save for later, knowing that she didn't have her own phone on her at the time to record it there. It felt strangely old-fashioned to actually write out the number for someone, but the sudden bout of nostalgia was a surprisingly welcome feeling just the same.

"Your next couple of rotations obviously aren't my specialty," I began softly, "but I still want to be able to help you whenever I can. Call me if you need help. Or...whenever you just need to talk," I said, allowing the suggested invitation for further contact to linger in the air unspoken, because I _certainly_ wasn't brave enough to say it outright just then.

"I will. Thank you, Erik," she said as she accepted the paper, "For everything."

"You're going to do so well here," I said firmly, hoping to convey my sincerity to her even in the simplicity of the thought. Because I was as proud of her as ever, and I didn't want what happened between us that day or any time before to overshadow a single aspect of her numerous and well-earned accomplishments, " _Anywhere_ you go, you'll do well."

And although there was still very much a lingering sadness present in her eyes, she smiled at my words - almost rewarding the sincerity of my unwavering confidence in her with that smile that had become so dear to me in all those weeks. In the next instant, seeming to have at least momentarily forgiven me, she hugged me then. Before I could protest or convince myself to stop my response, I returned the gesture, held her in my arms as tightly as she held me. And for every moment that passed in that contentment, I didn't want to let her go. I didn't want the embrace or the affection behind it to become a distant memory - even as I knew that I would have to one way or another. I could maintain the friendship, but I had to let go of that warmer aspect of what we had. Because I would always want more.

~~oOo~~

Christine, of course, had been absolutely correct in her assertion that I would miss her presence in the ER once she was required to work elsewhere. I knew that she had begun her psychology department rotation the following week, and at the outset of my own shifts then, I felt her absence with a startling yet unquestionable intensity. Once I had realized and accepted the depth of my feelings for her, I knew that her absence would be unpleasant - but I was shocked at how _severely_ so it was when confronted with it directly. I missed her - there was no denying it, no other way of describing that increasingly more familiar sensation. She and I had been working together from almost the first day of my own transfer to the emergency department, and as such I had grown very used to the routine we had developed in the weeks that followed. I was used to her seeking me out for assistance and the arranged meetings we had for tutoring after shifts - was admittedly rather fond of her walking in on me attempting to hide out in the lounge or the ambulance bay, and the conversations that always came up between us when that happened. I was lonely for her insightful thoughts, for the company she provided, fiercely regretting the fact that it seemed that I had taken it all for granted until it was too late to appreciate those stolen moments of relative peace. I missed them so _badly_ when they were no longer waiting in the wings, when I no longer had them to consistently look forward to - I missed _her_.

And it was my own damn fault. Because if I was a better man - if the circumstances had been different at all - I could have just as easily requested her time outside of the hospital, could have asked her to meet me for coffee, or to spend time at home and just talk. The location made no difference, so long as we would be together. It would have been appropriate, all things considered, and I was sure that such encounters would have granted us ample opportunities to grow still closer to one another. It all would have been so ideal, so full of promise and a brand of excitement that I truly wasn't accustomed to but wouldn't have dismissed were it presented. But I _wasn't_ a better man, and once again I was unwillingly paying a high price for that fact. A week or so after our discussion in the on-call room, I hadn't seen her at the hospital or heard from her over the phone yet, and thus I readily assumed that she was still too upset by what had happened to accept my offer to reach out to me. In turn, I didn't want to push my luck by initiating contact on my own, opting instead to wait out the silence, miserable though it was. I certainly couldn't blame _her_ for it, but somehow that silence still burned me all the same. And that affliction did nothing but add to the mounting problems I faced in other aspects of my life. I felt that I deserved it, at the very least for the fact that I had set it all into motion to begin with - but even so, it was fortunate that I had enough sense left in me to understand that I still had to do something to help myself regardless of any preceding factors.

How to do so, however, was becoming increasingly more difficult to achieve.

On the first afternoon of my three days off that week, I was entirely alone at home, unable to force myself to calm down even as I knew I very desperately needed to. Once again, the piano wasn't enough to distract me, any books and music around me that might have stood a chance of occupying my mind at any other time were now unappealing. And I found myself just rattling around the space I owned and contemplating other, far more destructive activities as a result. Because I couldn't settle my mind down long enough to sincerely focus on any of the creative or constructive outlets I had available - I just kept thinking about Christine, what could've been, and why it wasn't happening. I kept thinking about working in the emergency room, how painful it was to do so, the bitterness rising so steadily in me at each turn for something that had happened weeks ago and that was still entirely out of my control. And it was driving me insane - all of it - and I wanted it to just _stop_.

But a stubborn and more insistent part of me also wanted to outwit and ultimately drown out the irresponsible side - the unending madness that just wanted to drink and pass out for the rest of the evening, to stop thinking entirely in favor of some semblance of control. I simply couldn't fall so readily like that into a drunken stupor, couldn't let it continue to overtake me anymore - it was truly beginning to scare me just how often I was drinking now, how much earlier in the evening I was permitting myself to do so. What had begun as complete denial had by then turned into an acknowledged and _somewhat_ restrained routine - even with some days in between without incident. And that had sustained me for a while, at least enough so to still be unwilling to reach out for help. But now it was well past that. I saw the cycle accelerating as it had before, all control steadily dissolving, and I wanted to at least _try_ to get a handle on it on my own.

In order to do so, on that first day off I decided just to spend some time outside, hoping the cool November air would shock me back into reality - or _at least_ that it would compel me to remain sober even for just a little while longer. In my mind, every minute counted for something - if I didn't force myself to believe that, I'm not so sure how long I could've held out otherwise before falling completely into a black depression. I wasn't ready to consider _that_ alternative then. And so, opting to harness even the smallest amount of composure, I filled Rex's Kong toy with treats and threw it out into the backyard as I made my own way outside, hoping to keep him entertained but also nearby in the event that I required him to pull me from an anxiety attack. I wasn't necessarily at that point yet, but I had been living with it long enough by then to know the signs and to understand when to get myself out of perceived danger. Satisfied that Rex was contentedly occupied for the moment, I rolled out an old blanket in the middle of the dry grass and laid out on it, a habit that I had taken up as a child and sometimes called upon now when I wanted to try and relax. Making a concentrated effort just to breathe deeply, I stared up at the sky for a time, watching the clouds yet looking for nothing in particular and attempting to focus on reining in my thoughts. I wanted to remain positive, at least - I wanted _something_ to feel right again. The moments ticked by, and after a while I lost track of time altogether, feeling oddly numb as I was forced into submission by my desperate need to conquer my vices. It obviously wasn't a monumental step toward recovery, but it seemed to be a proper enough gesture, at any rate.

I flinched when my phone rang. It wasn't often that I kept the volume on - besides Nadir, no one else ever really called me - and as such I was thoroughly startled by the sharp and sudden noise breaking the otherwise quiet air. As I reached beside me to answer, I assumed that it was him calling and prepared myself to decide whether or not I would allow him to come over, because that was usually the only reason he called in the first place. But when I saw the screen, I immediately narrowed my eyes at the unfamiliar number. Assuming it was a misdial or an automated message from some scam company, I was about to decline it altogether - until I distantly recognized the area code. 619...My phone didn't give the city or state on-screen for callers not on my contact list, but if I remembered correctly, the code I saw then was one of the numbers used for San Diego. Realizing that, I answered the call immediately.

"Erik?" Christine's voice carried over the line, sounding unsure as she spoke.

"Yeah," I said hurriedly, sitting upright as I did so, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," she assured me quickly, "I'm just...I wasn't sure if you would answer."

I laughed as I admitted, "I almost didn't," then added, "I didn't know it was you."

"Right, you don't have my number," she said - and only then did I realize that I thoughtlessly had never bothered to get it from her. _Some jackass friend I turned out to be_ , I thought snidely as she continued, "Well, save it now."

"I will."

"I'm glad you answered," she said after a short pause.

My smile was genuine as I responded, "So am I."

We talked for some time after that, sharing a relatively neutral conversation - but it was enjoyable just the same, the unspoken reestablishment of the dynamics of our friendship. I was still missing her company in person, but at present I could be content with her voice - at any rate, it was enough to distract me from several larger issues for the time being, because I was still very much at a loss for what to do with myself otherwise. But even so, I was content speaking with Christine, immensely relieved that all ties hadn't been severed as I had been beginning to fear. I made it a point to think positively, at least for the time being. Talking to her over the phone certainly wasn't going to cure or solve any other problems I had; but I was occupied, less likely to fall into destructive patterns at least for the span of the conversation. And in those moments that followed, a part of me selfishly hoped it would remain that way during each proceeding call.

~~oOo~~

Christine

After everything that had happened, I could honestly say that I wished that things had been different between Erik and I - that we might have taken that kiss and our shared attraction as an opportunity to embark upon something more. But more than anything - once he made the decision to hold back and it was all said and done - I wanted so badly just to gain a better understanding of his reasons for putting an unwavering stop to a potential romantic involvement with one another to begin with. His rejection had admittedly been painful, and certainly an unexpected result of an otherwise pleasant occurrence; at the outset of going to speak with him again that day, I'd truly thought everything would play out far differently. But it was clear that wouldn't be the case, and moreover that he wasn't going to further communicate his thoughts beyond the bare details he'd given me. A part of me wondered if he was unable to do so, or if he was simply unwilling to entirely. And it worried me that something else seemed to be bothering him, although I couldn't place what the exact issue might have been - he had been as dismissive on that subject even as I'd hoped to help him in any way I could, in any way he would've allowed me to do so. But I was left in the dark just the same on every front where we were concerned, and altogether it was a distressing outcome. Because we clearly cared for each other beyond just simple friendship, yet that was all that was going to happen in the foreseeable future.

But still...I _did_ care for him, and in that spirit I came to realize in time that I could be content with what we had just the same.

After that first call - one that had taken me days to convince myself to make for fear of unceremoniously forcing myself into his life that much more - Erik and I spoke on the phone often, simply because we had far fewer chances to see and speak to one another at work anymore. At first, once I had been repeatedly reassured that I was _not_ bothering him, I was solely the one to initiate that contact, usually in the afternoons following my shifts. I had initially assumed that we might feasibly be able to use those calls in order to resume the level of tutoring that had been our routine when I worked in the emergency department, and I couldn't say that I would have minded that being the case at all. But the nature of the conversations quickly evolved beyond simple professionalism, as I came to believe was his intention, and for that I was immensely grateful. More often than not, I did most of the talking - but when Erik did interject or add his own contributions, I saw once again the easiness that he sometimes displayed with me, and it was a relief every time it returned and was conveyed in earnest. I truly enjoyed speaking with him, enjoyed just having him on the other end of the line and sensing the smile in his voice, the freedom with which he spoke his chosen words. He revealed nothing personal during those times - no more than I had already known - but I had ample reason to believe that holding an extended conversation with anyone to begin with was out of the ordinary for him, and it meant the world that he was willing to share that part of him with me.

My schooling and work at the hospital continued on in the meantime, because there was no force on earth, no relational worries that could keep me away from achieving what I had so determinedly set out to do. Having relationships - friendly or otherwise - outside of work was healthy, and of course encouraged. But I was too far along in the process and too pragmatic to allow myself to become distracted by the stress that certain aspects of socializing can inspire, even as I was relatively content for the time being. It was my intention to remain on that path and sort out all the rest in due time. So I continued on, feeling consistently more confident in my abilities as I did so, even on the days when the nature and demands of my education tested my perseverance.

Unsurprisingly, shifts spent in the psyche ward were as challenging as I had been told they would be. Where in the ER the patients more often than not displayed strictly physical illnesses or injuries, the patients in the psychology department harbored wounds that weren't as easily detectable, and were generally more difficult to treat by default. And it was absolutely heartbreaking to witness. The students were usually assigned to work with incoming patients and group therapy sessions - anything that would continue to foster our education and instill a sense of empathy in turn. And though some assignments would automatically shield us from the relative chaos of the department - issues left to be handled by more experienced nurses and physicians - it also meant working that much more closely with the individuals that had fallen far enough in their own lives to need to be there to begin with. When I heard their stories, I wanted to cry for them; I wanted to cry _with_ them. But I couldn't. For their sakes as much as my own, I had to maintain a strong facade in their eyes in order to properly help them, to give them the reassurance they needed that they would make it out of there in one piece and could go on living in a far healthier manner than when they first required treatment. But there was _certainly_ more than one episode that left me so troubled and heartsick that I let my tears free the almost the very moment I got home each night.

On those occasions, I would call the other students that I had gotten to know and had thus befriended in order to simply free the emotions that would build up in me every shift; I spoke often to Erik on the subject as well. When he and I talked about the matter, he was sympathetic to my worries and offered his reassurance and advice when solicited - though I sensed that he was also troubled by what he heard, by the details I shared of my days even as I kept them vague out of respect for the patients involved. Erik seemed decidedly uncomfortable by the thought of what working in psychology entailed, and after a time I realized that it was likely a topic that hit too close to home for him. Remembering that he had been diagnosed with PTSD some years ago, I realized that he had once been required to seek psychological help; I didn't know what exactly was necessary in that process, of course - and true to form, nor did he describe his experiences in any great detail - but I knew it was yet another aspect of his life that had caused him pain and trouble in the past, and thus he chose to keep it almost entirely to himself. I couldn't blame him, and I knew him well enough by then to know not to press the issue further. But even so, having him to speak with about my own experiences once again proved to be an invaluable facet of our friendship - a reflection of the foundation of the dynamics we built that friendship upon - and not for the first time I was grateful for his presence.

~~oOo~~

It _was_ still difficult to accept that we might not have anything more - but for countless moments after that first kiss and everything that happened afterward, I could still bring myself to enjoy what we continued to share regardless. And as the weeks went on, it was almost strange - yet just as intriguing all the while - to observe and consider the way that some aspects of our friendship remained the same while others continued to evolve over time, manifesting themselves distinctly even as they had been set very strict limits in their capacity.

In our shared work environment, many things didn't change in the way Erik and I carried ourselves together, and that was to be expected. He was still, first and foremost, very much the physician and colleague in the presence of others. Though on the rare occasions we spent alone in his department of the hospital, I continued to catch those glimpses of the man I had gotten to know; there were always the days that exceedingly difficult cases left him agitated, and other moments when I found him hiding out and looking weary and unwell as he did so - and I would inevitably attempt to reach out to him when that situation took place. But whenever I asked after his wellbeing, he consistently assured me that he was alright - that he just needed a moment to compose himself - and more often than not that was exactly what happened. I suspected, now more than ever, that there was more to his words than he was letting on, but I had no way of knowing for sure. He never explained himself further, never took a moment to accept my offers for help. And in being perfectly honest, his continued manner of distance began to strike me as hurtful, simply for the fact that I had hoped that we would have passed that barrier over time - we were no longer the same people to one another as when we first met, when his reserved demeanor was understood as inherent and a necessary part of our working relationship. I respected him too much to attempt to pry, but I couldn't help wondering if he still didn't trust me enough to reveal anything more about himself, and I was distantly unsettled by the implications - it didn't seem to bode well for a more meaningful friendship, not after knowing one another so long and when considering everything that had happened between us.

Even so, he continued to communicate with me as often as possible. And in spite of his otherwise distant behavior, on the surface our more familiar interactions were all so seemingly innocent and uncomplicated. Yet to further convolute matters solely of a more romantic nature, at the same time they were equally defined by an unspoken longing for one another in turn. It was as if each of us wanted to attempt to bridge that gap between friendship and commitment once again, but knew that we simply couldn't. Not anymore. And perhaps that was the worst part of it. We weren't divided because we were incompatible, but rather because something so much bigger held us back - something that, like so many other subjects, Erik wouldn't admit to or confront directly. But unlike details of his personal life, it often seemed that he _wanted_ to - on more than one occasion he seemed on the verge of speaking his mind, of reaching out to me or letting some form of physical contact linger just a bit longer; yet he always stopped himself in those pivotal moments of hesitation, just a breath away from skirting and ultimately crossing that invisible line. And tried though I did, I just couldn't think of a way to reach out to him for my part - nothing I did or said seemed to make a difference. I sensed the regret it inspired in him, a disappointment very much mirroring my own. But time and time again we were left to exist in limbo - not in a relationship, but certainly no longer just friends. I didn't know how long that existence could go on before something would inevitably have to change; and in being perfectly honest, I didn't want to consider it. I didn't want to know firsthand what event might come to pass that would eventually break the tentative bonds we held, dancing between friendship and professionalism yet always wanting more.

But still, I couldn't honestly say that it was _all_ bad. Rather, I could separate myself from my emotions enough to simply remember to enjoy the friendship we had as it was, and for what it was - that steadily growing and more readily assured sense of companionship that we offered one another.

As my psyche rotation continued and drew closer to its end, I looked forward to those stolen moments in the hospital that Erik and I shared on the occasions when I had to work in the emergency department - the covert glances we chanced between our continually shifting cases and patients, always striving to remain professional in the eyes of our colleagues as we engaged with each other. It was those instances when our eyes met that held a thousand silent words even in their brevity. And those occasions extended well beyond the threshold of the hospital. When I saw his name appear on my phone's screen, I always smiled at the sight, heart beating excitedly by the prospect of what would likely become another long conversation. When we spoke in the relative privacy offered by the phones, I often found myself wondering what would make him laugh during that time, what words of encouragement or wisdom he would see fit to extend to me. I wondered if he thought about me when those conversations ended; and if he did, what was the nature of those thoughts? Were they as dominated by daydreams as mine? I would be lying if I didn't say I very much hoped so. And between working and studying and otherwise just functioning in my own life, I could allow myself to get lost in those quiet moments, wishing and wondering _what if_ , yet even so never finding it in myself to be bitter about the circumstances. I couldn't anymore - rather, all the while I hoped that he was at least enjoying even a fraction of the peace that he had given me.

The peace that Erik and I shared, however, was absolutely shattered just some days before the final shift of my rotation - and so abruptly that I truly had no way of anticipating or preventing the events that followed. When it was all said and done, I was sure that I would never forget that day; it changed everything I had come to know about us, and not for the better.

~~oOo~~

The med students on the psyche rotation had been assigned to manage patient intake and evaluation in the emergency room. As such, we were consistently busy throughout the majority of the shift, though never quite to the point that we were overwhelmed. In fact, there was a span of time toward the end of the day that we were granted a lull in incoming patients, and as a result we were for the most part allowed to take the time to study or see to whatever other tasks required our attention. It had been my goal to look for Erik at one point - possibly to share a greeting and a moment together - before reviewing my charts for the day and presenting them to my resident. But to my surprise and somewhat to my frustration, Raoul approached me before I had the chance to go in my intended direction, insisting that we needed to speak then, and privately. I was confused initially - whenever we had serious matters to discuss, they usually involved some aspect of work or school, and thus could be handled out in the open without having to worry about any sort of breach in professionalism. His manners that day, however, spoke of something gravely serious; noting his intensity, I half-expected him to bear some unfortunate piece of news from California, perhaps that one of his parents had gotten sick or had been in an accident. And so, bearing that in mind, I followed him to a relatively secluded corner of the ER, preparing myself to offer assistance or sympathy if required. Because, although I had recently been developing friendships with some of the other students and with Erik, my friendship with Raoul still meant a great deal to me, and I wouldn't let my own affairs get in the way of the years we shared.

"What's going on?" I asked when we were alone.

"I found out something that I think you need to know," he said, keeping his voice low in spite of the fact that no one was immediately nearby.

"About?" I responded warily, once again thoroughly confused by the unexpected shift the conversation seemed to be taking. If it was something involving his family, he would have said so outright - that detail alone set me on edge from the start.

"About Dr. Riley."

Now thoroughly puzzled, if not a bit concerned, I asked, "What is it?"

"So, Andrew and I did some looking into him - "

" - Wait, what? Why?" I interrupted.

"Hold on, I'll explain everything."

"Raoul - "

" - I found out that he spent some time in jail a while back. I don't know what for yet. I _knew_ something was off about him."

"Hold on," I said, holding my hands up as he seemed ready to continue, "Do you know this _for sure_?"

"Yes. What do you think he was there for?"

"I don't know," I murmured, not understanding the sudden revelation, nor necessarily ready to believe it either. It was true that I didn't know much about Erik's life before he came to Chicago, but I had to wonder if what Raoul was saying had been based on a reliable source, or merely an unfortunate misunderstanding. Though even if it wasn't, I realized then that it was all irrelevant - there had to be more to the story, but no matter what, I was in no position to judge the events of anyone's past regardless of the details. So, shaking my head I asked, "Does it matter?"

"I think so, yes. It makes sense, he's aggressive as hell, and - "

" - I wouldn't say that - "

" - _And_ he has that scarring on his face. What if it was from a meth lab or something?"

"It was a bomb," I said absently, then faced Raoul directly, wanting to challenge him for what I considered very rude and ignorant assumptions, "He was in the Army, did you know that?"

"No, but still - "

" - And what if you made a mistake?" I repeated, "Or if you didn't, you certainly don't have all the details."

Bristling at my declination to take him at his word, he said defiantly, "Fine. Ask him for yourself, then."

Stubbornly, I decided to do just that. Refusing to say more, I stormed off, determined to put the issue to rest before anything more could come of it. Fortunately, it was a still relatively slow in the department; as such, it didn't take me long to find Erik in the doctor's lounge, considering all throughout my short journey just how I might approach this topic. It felt like an incredible breach of privacy, nevermind almost a betrayal of our friendship to outright accuse him of anything. But I had to know for sure - for my sake as well as his own, for the very real possibility that rumors could be spread and distorted because of one instance of too many personal details finding their way to the wrong people. Raoul had made the mistake of involving another student in his attempt to seek information and clarity, and Erik deserved at least a chance to defend himself and to halt any misinformation before it got too far out of control. So, steeling myself, I simply ventured to either confirm or disprove what Raoul had discovered, hoping all the while that it wasn't true yet still knowing that it would take a truly violent crime to sway my opinion; and logically, that couldn't have been the case if Erik had forged a relatively successful career for himself. Still reeling from the sudden and unexpected development, I knew more than anything that I had to remember at least _that_ if nothing else in those moments.

"Erik?" I began hesitantly, closing the lounge's door behind me and approaching the coffee maker where he stood, "I need to ask you something."

"Alright," he responded warily, clearly noting my discomfort - now very uncharacteristic of me to display in his company.

"Do you remember Raoul?" I asked, and at his affirmative nod I continued, "He said...he said that you were in jail before. Is that true?"

He withheld his reply for a moment, leaning with clearly forced nonchalance against the countertop and considering me before he spoke, "What would you say if it was?"

"So it is…"

"Yes, it is," he said with a stiff shrug.

I nodded, "I just wanted to know - "

" - Know _what_? If I'm violent? If I killed someone?"

"I _don't_ think that - "

" - What _do_ you think, then?"

"I guess Raoul was concerned, and I wanted to - "

" - Where is he?" Erik snapped, seeming to realize for the first time just how involved Raoul actually was in the situation.

"What?" I asked numbly, attempting to force my mind to catch up to the unfolding events.

"Where's Chaney?"

"He's here, in the ER," I said, "We're all doing patient intake today."

Without another word, Erik pushed away from the countertop and determinedly made his way out of the lounge. Dreading what might happen, I followed closely behind him, having difficulty keeping up with his long strides and hoping desperately that the coming confrontation would be short-lived. I couldn't even begin to guess what he intended to say, but I knew for sure that he was angry, and enough so to allow his temper to rule his actions - he always preferred to maintain a well-constructed air of detachment at work, and it seemed that even the idea that someone had attempted to cross that boundary was greatly upsetting to him, to the point that he simply couldn't condone or ignore it then. And I couldn't blame him - I respected the notion and strived to employ it myself, even as we had somewhat bent those rules together in the course of our own relationship. But we were friends, and we had never acted inappropriately - Raoul was all but a complete stranger in this situation, and his actions were unacceptable. When we found him again - seeming to have been waiting for me to return and looking thoroughly shocked that I did not do so unaccompanied - Erik didn't speak immediately. Rather, he succinctly asked him to come with us to one of the deserted suture rooms. Raoul followed without protest, yet I could still see the look of mingled apprehension and contempt in his eyes. Once again, I hoped that the discussion and whatever came of it would be brief and civil - I didn't necessarily believe that either of them would resort to violence, but I couldn't guarantee just how they would handle themselves with tensions clearly running so high, either.

"I stole a car," Erik snapped without bothering with any sort of proper greeting, surprising both Raoul and I in turn. I hadn't been expecting that response at all, and with no small amount of guilt I realized how relieved I was to hear it. I should have expected better of him, thought more highly of him, but it seemed that I had unconsciously allowed doubt to settle in my mind just the same. And that made me feel terrible. Feeling contrite and dejected, I was distantly aware of Erik continuing, "When I was seventeen, I made a stupid decision and stole a car. That's _all._ I was arrested, and I was in jail until I was sentenced."

"Dr. Riley, I - "

" - _Don't_ talk. You wanted to do some research about me, so I'm answering your questions directly. And if you choose to continue, you'll see that I'm telling the truth. But I'm failing to understand why. You had absolutely no reason to look into this in the first place."

"I believe that I did," Raoul responded stubbornly, "I had _reason_ to believe that you were taking advantage of a student, that you were behaving inappropriately. And I wanted to know if you had a history of doing so. I think I was justified."

"Clearly, you weren't. And even if you were, if you had _any_ concerns about me at all, you should have either gone to Dr. Khan or your resident."

"Are you trying to pull rank again?"

"I don't need to. It's well-established, and not in your favor," Erik smiled sardonically before adding, "But I'll remind you that acting like a little wise-ass is most certainly not in your best interest right now. _And in the future_ ," he continued when Raoul attempted to interrupt, standing in a daunting, authoritative manner reminiscent of his time in the military, "remember that your status as a student is a privilege extended by the university, and as such you are to use your time here accordingly and appropriately. If you _ever_ decide to look for something to gossip about again, do so elsewhere. You're here to _learn_ , not to act like a child," he said, then snapped his dismissal, "Get back to work."

But Raoul still attempted to speak, "Dr. Riley - "

" - Alright," I interjected, "you said what you needed to. Erik, let's go," I said, pointedly facing him directly. Taking his arm in an attempt to draw him further away from the object of his anger, I motioned to lead him from the room.

To my surprise, he _did_ follow. But the tension I felt in him as we walked away was nearly tangible even as he had successfully confronted the source of his distress and conveyed his reprimand; I knew then that the discussion couldn't end there - certainly not between the two of us. Whatever happened next between him and Raoul wasn't any of my concern by that point, nor was it within the realm of my control. For the time being, I simply needed to calm Erik down and address what had just happened. Wordlessly, we went back to the doctor's lounge - and thankfully, it was still entirely unoccupied. With any luck, it would remain so at least for the duration of our conversation - we couldn't afford any interruptions. I sat at the table upon arrival, but much to my dismay, Erik remained standing, folding his arms over his chest as he did so and refusing to look at me initially. Although I had seen him upset over various issues countless times before, I hadn't seen him _that_ outwardly uncomfortable in weeks, nor had I witnessed his anger for quite some time before that. My heart sank at the prospects of what that regression implied then, at the fact that I had no idea what to do about it even so.

"Do you have any other questions?" he asked tersely, still looking away, "Since details of my life seem to be up for grabs, you might as well take advantage of the opportunity."

"Erik - "

" - I'm serious. Ask me anything, whatever you want to know."

I sighed, ignoring his sarcasm as I ventured, "Fine. Were you there long? In jail?"

"Long enough for sentencing," he said, now facing me and saying almost pleadingly, as if he feared I wouldn't believe him, "But that's it, that's where it ended."

"What would've happened if you were convicted?"

"Are you asking what the minimum is for grand theft auto?" he snapped, then shrugged helplessly, "It's a felony, but that's all I know. I honestly don't remember anything else. I went into the Army instead. _That's_ what the judge gave me, prison or the military. And you know which one I chose."

I was taken aback by that revelation, attempting to piece together what few facts I had already possessed as I asked, "Wait, you mean you didn't _want_ to go into the Army? You didn't enlist on your own?"

"I was already in college when everything happened. So no, it wasn't my first choice."

"I never realized…"

"I wasn't a 'good Southern boy' doing his duty to his country. I wasn't eager to go off and serve. If anything, I was indifferent to all of it," he said, then scoffed, "And now I can safely say I'm a conscientious objector. The Army was…" he paused, seeming to need to search for the correct words and sighing when that couldn't be achieved, "It shouldn't have happened."

"I'm sorry," I said helplessly, starkly aware of the pain in his voice as he revealed how each event in his life led to another, the unspoken regret not lost on me then.

"I was a _kid_. And it was a long time ago," he shook his head, seeming to force himself back into the present, "Why even go digging all of that up?"

"Raoul was worried - "

" - But I don't understand _why_. Have I ever given _you_ any reason to be worried?" he asked seriously, obviously concerned that something might have happened between us to cause me alarm, "Anything you would've told him about?"

"No," I said firmly.

"Then it doesn't matter. He shouldn't have gone looking," he said, then sighed defeatedly, "So what now? Is your friend out there talking about this?"

I hesitated, "I don't think _he_ will. But...one of tne of the other students knows."

He was silent for a time before he finally spoke again, his words barely audible as he said, "This affects my life, Christine. My _livelihood_. I don't need anyone here thinking that I can't work because I have a record. People will use this as a reason to question my judgment."

Upset by that, I attempted to use his earlier words as a counter, "It _was_ a long time ago, though - "

" - I don't _care_!" he said, louder now, looking almost terrified as he continued, "That doesn't matter. Do you think everyone's always that understanding? And anyway, it was none of your business in the first place, _either_ of you. Chaney had no right to go looking, or to tell you what he found out. What I did was none of your _goddamn_ business!"

"I'm sorry," I repeated, because although I was sincere in that statement, I also truly didn't know how else to respond.

"Right," he said with a humorless laugh, turning away from me - and for a time there was only silence between us, deafening and tense and uncertain.

"Would you have told me about it?" I asked when that silence became too overwhelming, suddenly needing to know yet fearing the answer all the while - because a part of me was certain of what it would be even as I said the words.

"I don't know," he snapped, "I didn't _want_ to, that's for goddamn sure."

"I had hoped you would trust me more than that," I whispered, more than a little hurt then by his admission, regardless of whether or not it was only stated in anger. It confirmed what I had begun to fear throughout the course of our friendship; I was terrified that this factor would never change between us, no matter how much we cared for one another.

"I did trust you," he said - much to my absolute shock - then paused, once again seeming to need to weigh his words before saying softly, "Maybe this was a mistake."

"What was?"

He gave an absent, sweeping gesture toward me, "All of this. Teaching you, getting to know you. If it meant - "

" - Erik, I _swear_ , I didn't know he was going to do any of this - "

" - I know. And I'm not trying to punish you, but I need to distance myself. From _everything_. I value my privacy, Christine. I need it. I _have_ to separate my life from my work," he said flatly, unwavering in his determination of that statement.

I could hear the dread in my voice as I asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that this," he gestured again between us, "can't go on. I'm sorry, I made a mistake - "

"You're not the only one in this - "

" - I think...I just I need you to leave me alone, alright? From now on."

I could only stare at him then, shocked into total silence. My heart absolutely sank at his words, at the finality of his statement. I hadn't been expecting it at all, and I desperately wanted him to take those words back, for the entire incident to be undone and forgotten. I had intended to reason with him, in the moments that followed - to give his temper a chance to cool in order to reach him in a more rational state of mind. But as I prepared to do just that, he walked out before I had the chance to speak again, before I could even begin find the words to fix what had just been so abruptly and unexpectedly broken. And once again, I had no idea where to go from there. It had all happened so fast - I only knew that our friendship had just sustained a crushing setback, one that might very well prove to be irreparable. I prayed that wouldn't be the case, but all the while I had to wonder if I would be so lucky in the end.


	9. Holding On to What I Haven't Got

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back! I apologize for the long wait. I had several personal matters happen all at once, among other things, and needed the hiatus for a time. I hope that this long of a break won't happen again, and I would like to thank y'all for your patience and continued support. Also, I would like to apologize to those on the East Coast and beyond that this is technically being posted on Wednesday - unfortunately, my day ran longer than anticipated, and I only just got home. But the regular Tuesday update schedule is not officially resumed, so keep an eye out! And on that note, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please let me know what you think and if anything can be improved upon. And special thanks to the guest reviewer for pointing out the difficulty of reading exceedingly long paragraphs - I hadn't realized how overwhelming they could be until recently, so thank you very much for calling that to my attention! I've made steps to improve that issue in the chapters to follow and will go back and edit the other ones when I can. But if that or any other things still prove to be issues, don't hesitate to let me know. The input is invaluable, and I know I've said it a million times, but I sincerely appreciate any and all constructive criticism - it helps me as a writer, and hopefully gives y'all a more enjoyable experience reading my work altogether._ _^_^ Finally, the title for this chapter comes from lyrics from the song "Waiting For the End" by Linkin Park. Welp, I believe that's all. Please let me know what you think, and most importantly - enjoy!_

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Chapter 7 - Holding On to What I Haven't Got

Christine

Raoul and I had known each other since we were very young, brought into one another's lives solely for the fact that our fathers had been close friends when they were in college together. For reasons never made entirely known to anyone besides themselves, they had a significant falling out some years later, and essentially allowed their friendship to permanently dissolve from there. But even so, they never prevented Raoul and I from visiting with one another as time went by, grudgingly agreeing to remain outwardly civil in each other's company for the sake of their childrens' happiness. Because we were all but inseparable when we spent time together - the ideal picture of childhood best friends - we remained close well into our adolescent years. Throughout those years, it was obvious that our parents could see that it would have been almost cruel to force us apart because of their own problems, and thus never could bring themselves to discourage the friendship. And although Raoul and I had parted ways ourselves for a time shortly after graduating from our respective high schools, we were unexpectedly brought back together again when news of my father's illness and subsequent passing made it to the Chaney family. Raoul and I were reunited at that point in our lives, and in spite of my grief - and perhaps against my better judgment under those circumstances - we entered into a committed relationship very soon after that.

Our coming together wasn't necessarily exceptional, of course; it was nothing so out of the ordinary when considering our long history with one another. But we saw ourselves as the definition of romance - childhood sweethearts rejoining after so long spent apart - and as such we sincerely believed that nothing else would suffice, that no one else would fit as our respective counterparts. I believe there was a time that we were in love - or, at least, we wholeheartedly thought that we were. Our love and commitment were each born of a simple idea, a fantasy-based existence for which we were wholly unprepared - but we pressed on all the same, encouraged by dreams and ambition and silently hoping that time would solve any of the more serious issues that might arise from our hasty reunion.

That naive idealism, however, wasn't enough to save us in the end. When it was all said and done, it was just not meant to be. Once we embarked on our relationship, we immediately faced hurdles well beyond the scope of our experience that nearly broke us both entirely. Upon reflection, we truly shouldn't have stayed together from that point - but we were both stubborn, both attempting to sustain the simple idea that the love we thought we knew would be stronger than what had happened to us...what had happened to me. I didn't like to dwell on what had occurred all those years ago, opting instead to try and remember _anything_ positive that could be learned from the time we spent together, to see it through and hoped that things would change for the better. In that spirit, we lived with that belief for the majority of our early-twenties as we attempted to see to other aspects of our lives. It wasn't until several years later that we made the mutual decision to go into medical school together, another factor in our relationship that would eventually lead to its termination.

Yet in spite of it all, I had always been able to step back from the grander picture we had painted alongside one another and sincerely appreciate what we had become - even when it was over. Because at the end of the day, there was no reason that we should have been able to come through what we had experienced together with any semblance of civility, let alone the friendship we had forged over so much time and after so many tears between us. Others hadn't been so successful in similar attempts, and I counted us as fortunate to have what we did. But that certainly did not mean that we were infallible, that the decisions we made regarding each other were always the wisest or made with the other's best interests in mind. Namely, Raoul's misplaced sense of duty to protect me - one that had steadily developed over the years and that was never quite abandoned even upon our separation.

Unfortunately, he didn't always employ the best judgment when exercising that sense of protectiveness, and the incident in question made me starkly aware of that fact. And when the dust settled and I began to realize the very real impact of his decision to look into Erik's past, I could honestly say that I wasn't willing to extend any favorable emotions to Raoul then. I didn't hate him - I truly couldn't bring myself to do so even then. Rather, up until that day I had still enjoyed the companionship we shared, even as we disagreed on how that companionship should manifest itself. For all his faults, he _was_ a caring person - a trait that I found endearing even as it could prove to be frustrating. But even so, I couldn't necessarily forgive him so easily for his brash and callous behavior, either. Its consequences - though as yet unseen - could prove to be very severe for all involved, especially for Erik. And moreover, Raoul and I were far too old to be engaging in digging up and potentially contributing to the spreading of gossip and rumors. We were older than the majority of our student peer group, by virtue of the fact that we had been required to make the decision to enter into med school far later in life than most. Therefore, Raoul _should_ have known better than to act as he had, and my fear then was that the others wouldn't think twice about speaking of matters that didn't concern them, simply because they hadn't yet learned to act otherwise.

However, I didn't want to dwell on those aspects of the situation for much longer than I already had - for the time being, they could wait. First and foremost, I wanted to confront Raoul directly about his role in what had happened, and I needed to do so as soon as possible.

As if coming out of a fog in the wake of my distress - in the wake of the fear that Erik's parting words had instilled in me in the moments that immediately followed them - I left the doctor's lounge quite some time after Erik himself had. My own shift was over by then, and thus Raoul's certainly would be as well. I wanted to speak with him before he left - if he had in fact chosen to leave after being so thoroughly reprimanded - and then was likely to be my best opportunity to do so; like most students, he was difficult to reach outside of the hospital, and I didn't want to have to track him down elsewhere for the sake of a discussion that I felt was immensely time-sensitive. Choosing to handle the matter in as timely a fashion as possible, I was grateful that I didn't have to search for him for too long. He _had_ stayed in the hospital, after all; I found him near the ER's admit-desk, sifting through his final charts of the day and likely preparing them for presentation, just as I had been earlier. He appeared distracted as I approached, even a bit abashed for everything that he had done. But I wasn't willing to offer him my sympathy then. He simply should have known better than to act as he had, and I couldn't allow myself to be distracted by his demeanor. Coldly and succinctly telling him to meet me outside in the ambulance bay once he had seen to the last of his responsibilities, I stormed off in that direction to wait for the encounter without lingering to hear his response.

Once outside myself, shivering in the brisk November air that was just barely affected by the fading sunlight of the day, I was starkly aware then that I only had my labcoat and scrubs as protection against the steady breeze. But I chose not to do anything about it then, not even willing to take the time to run back to my locker for my jacket - I wanted only to concentrate on speaking with Raoul, attempting during the seemingly endless moments of my wait to carefully choose my words for the coming discussion. But I was so upset by then, so beyond frustrated and confused by several differing factors that even distantly I had to admit that I came off far more ineloquently than I had intended.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I snapped the moment Raoul stepped outside.

He sighed, clearly expecting the nature of my confrontation yet still unwilling to relent on his own stance, "I already told you, I was worried - "

" - So you should have talked to someone whose _job_ it is to handle things like this," I insisted, "Not one of the other students. You _know_ Andrew will talk about this."

"I didn't want any trouble," he said, pausing abruptly for an instant to allow a paramedic to pass by before determinedly continuing, "But doesn't Dr. Riley coming after me about it prove that I _did_ have reason to worry?"

"No," I said firmly, then continued in a rush when he appeared ready to protest, "He shouldn't have approached it the way he did either, I _understand_ that. But can you really blame him? You put him in a corner, and he had to defend himself."

"I just wanted to - "

" - Stop. You keep saying you were worried, that you were justified. Fine, you believe what you believe. But none of that matters, because your reaction crossed a line. It wasn't any of your business," I said firmly, echoing Erik's words from our own conversation.

"Christine - "

" - And even if it _was_ ," I continued, unwilling to allow him to attempt to sway me, "why didn't you at least talk to _me_ about it first?"

He scoffed, giving me an incredulous look before continuing, "I've brought it up to you before. You wouldn't listen."

"I _did_ though," I said, nearly yelling then. Mindful of where we were, I softened my tone before I continued, "You said to be careful, and I was. You said you didn't like him, and exactly why, and I defended myself. I defended Erik. _That_ should have been the end of it."

"What were you doing in the on-call room with him, then?" he asked bluntly, the slight accusation in his tone catching me off-guard, "The last day of the ER rotation, I mean. It looked like I interrupted something."

Hoping to conceal any evidence of private matters, I simply rolled my eyes and said, "You interrupted a _conversation_ , Raoul."

"I don't believe that. Or if that's what was happening, that wasn't a conversation between coworkers. He's your superior, and he was taking advantage of that. Or he _wanted_ to."

"Bullshit," I said, turning away slightly, "You don't know anything about it."

"Well, I wanted to find out for myself, and I wanted to let you know what I learned."

"Fine, you did," I said sharply, hoping he would stray from that line of the conversation and asking, "But why did you have to do it _here_?"

"I can never get ahold of you anymore - "

" - You should have tried harder, then! Things like this can't happen at work, Raoul. We're students. We're being evaluated on our work _and_ our behavior. What you did today was beyond unprofessional," I said, now glaring at him, "We're both lucky it wasn't worse."

"Look, I'm sorry, but - "

" - But _nothing_. I can't afford to ruin this. I _have_ to do well in school, now more than ever," I continued, not caring then to hear his apologies or excuses, setting aside my friendship with Erik for the moment as I suddenly realized several other potential consequences of the situation, "If you can't stay in med school, then you have your other degree to fall back on. You have your family to support you. You have _options_. I have nothing, just this. Just school."

Ignoring my pleas, he bristled defensively, "My family doesn't - "

" - _Stop_ ," I snapped again. Frustrated, I held up my hand as I said sharply, "You know what? It doesn't matter. Just..stay out of my business, Raoul. And Erik's. You've done enough damage already. As it is, you need to go try and undo what you started."

"I can't just - "

" - And _don't_ do something like this again," I interrupted, feeling more like an authority figure then than a friend. But I had to make my point known, under no uncertain terms.

If he meant to reply, I didn't hear it - I never gave him the chance to be heard. Instead, I just stormed off again back inside - toward the doctor's lounge and my locker as I sought to escape the department and the stress of the day - still absolutely reeling from everything that had happened in the span of less than an hour.

So _much_ had changed in that short instant. Everything had been going so well for such a long time - for myself, for Erik and I both in the ever-changing course of our friendship. It wasn't perfect, wasn't exactly what I would've chosen for us; but all things considered, I _had_ been content - and it seemed that Erik had even been as well. I was sure we could have remained that way, carrying on in that capacity for a rather long time, perhaps allow ourselves to continue to settle down into the ease of our friendship and reevaluate the other aspects of our relationship later. And I would have welcomed that possibility, no matter what came of it, simply for the fact that we would have been free to go down that path together, in our time and under our own terms. Now, it seemed, that nothing of the sort would happen between us - certainly nothing as significant as I had so recently assumed. He was upset, and had adamantly asked to be left alone - and for the time being, I had no choice but to comply, to respect his wishes even as I knew how badly they were hurting us both. But I didn't want to push him further away; I knew him well enough by then to understand that he needed a significant measure of distance when he felt threatened - and he _certainly_ had reason to that day. There was nothing more I could do then but wait. It was painful, and it scared me badly to even consider the implications that distance still held - but those last dregs of hope were all I had left.

When I passed Raoul again after I left the lounge, he didn't attempt to call after me, didn't attempt to pull me from my thoughts as I made my way out of the emergency department. And in the moments that followed, I was immensely grateful that he had finally chosen to do as I had asked. I didn't think I could handle another conversation with him then, and likely not anytime soon. All I wanted to do then was to go home, complete what few tasks needed to be attended to for work, and once again try to find a way to help things settle down, in the hope that doing so would mean having an opportunity to speak to Erik again on calmer footing - and to force myself to be patient in the meantime until that happened.

~~oOo~~

By the last day of my psychology department rotation, very little had changed regarding my life outside of work. For four solid days, I had been adamantly ignoring Raoul's attempts at reconciliation, and I still hadn't spoken to Erik - I hadn't actively reached out to contact him, nor had he ventured to do so for me in turn. But I wasn't necessarily surprised by that fact. His own three days off began the day we had our conflict, and although I _could_ have easily attempted to reach him by phone, at the same time I also wanted to maintain my decision to respect his request to be left alone, assuming all the while that his _from now on_ had been spoken in a desperate moment of anger and held no more weight than that. I didn't want to allow myself to believe that he was serious, that he meant to convey permanence with his words. He needed time, and I determined to give him as much as possible - as much of it as I could handle myself.

In the meantime, it quickly became clear that Raoul's friend _had_ in fact spoken to other students about what they had uncovered regarding Erik's past; and with little context to assure that friend that the matter wasn't nearly as interesting as he seemed to believe, rumors and misinformation on the subject began to take hold among our other classmates. It was exactly what I feared happening - one of many repercussions that Erik had wanted to prevent - and I strongly suspected that the issue would only get worse when he returned from his days away from the hospital. If his assumptions were correct, it would very likely become difficult for him to work within the department as a result. For my part, I attempted to fend off as much of the spreading of those rumors as possible, namely when directly asked about him by association. But how many of my efforts would actually help him in the end remained unclear - only a handful of days had passed between then and the initial origins of the conflict, and that was certainly not enough time to truly see how any rumors might affect his work. But all the same, I could only hope for a positive outcome - that we had all overreacted to a bout of unpleasantness that would prove to be short-lived - and that would be the end of it.

Erik was back in the hospital for his own shift when the last of mine in psych began, and although I was sure we wouldn't see much of each other during those hours, I decided at the outset that I would at least attempt to approach him at the end of that day. Regardless of what he had said before, I wanted very badly to clear the air once and for all - to get answers regarding just how we might proceed from there - and I had impatiently determined by then that maybe enough time had passed that it would be appropriate to do so.

Until that point, there was still work to be done on my own before the end of the day, when the long-awaited evaluation sheets would be handed out yet again. And while I admittedly experienced some of the same nervousness I had when facing the conclusion of my first emergency department rotation, I felt far more assured that my second one in psychology would be as successful - the entirety of that particular rotation had run relatively smoothly even as it had been demanding. And although I was almost happy to see it end - simply for the fact that it truly was emotionally draining - I was sure that there would be no major issues involved with it on the whole.

To ring out our last day in that department, I and a handful of other med students were chosen to handle the day-shift in the psychiatric section of the ER, the last of many assignments meant to test the retention of our skills in the context of a real-world setting. It was certainly not an unfamiliar environment to me by then, but even so I was still somewhat nervous about the daunting nature of the experience, knowing that it was a shift that could prove to be unpredictable; but the resident I had been working with up to that point did her job as my mentor very well, and had sincere confidence in my ability to handle the challenge. There were already two patients checked in when the students arrived. Arranging myself alongside my colleagues in the small corridor, I looked over the patients' charts, scanning for key information before going in to assess them directly.

One of the patients was a homeless man that had the misfortune of falling between the cracks of society, brought in by police officers when he reportedly became combative upon being required to leave the storefront that he had sought shelter from for the day. He reeked of alcohol and was noted to not be entirely coherent when awake, but was otherwise determined to be harmless. As such, he didn't strictly meet the criteria for a long stay in the hospital, but hadn't done anything to require any amount of jail time, either. And so, he was sent straight to the hospital; but there was little we could do for him even then - even as much as we wanted to. Rather, we were only permitted to look after him and keep him comfortable until a social worker appeared, hoping all the while that the outcome of some much-needed assistance on his behalf would be favorable. For the time being, he was at least sleeping soundly when I checked on him, and I hoped that he would for quite some time, simply for the fact that it was probably a rare occurrence for him to truly rest without worrying for his own safety.

The patient beside him, however, didn't seem at all confident in the assertion of her companion's innocuous presence. She herself had been brought in on a 51-50, and looked understandably terrified by her surroundings, by the questionable man beside her and the overall unfamiliar atmosphere and subsequent terror that the department inspired in some. According to her chart, this was her first suicide attempt - she had never been admitted to any kind of psych ward or mental health facility before, and looked around the room now with wild eyes. She was frightened beyond measure and absolutely overwhelmed with no promise of respite, and was still showing symptoms of acute anxiety even though she had been admitted quite some time ago. But like the man beside her, there wasn't much I could do for her then until the on-call psychiatrist arrived, nothing beyond offering her reassuring words. But she didn't believe a single one of them; rather, she begged me tearfully and repeatedly to let her go.

Altogether, hers was one of the more difficult cases I had worked on during that rotation - one that stuck with me for reasons I couldn't readily identify. Perhaps it was the fact that we were near the same age - we easily could have existed in reversed roles, and I was reminded of that fact forcefully as she and I spoke. Or maybe her case resonated with me simply because she might very well become one of many that fell through the cracks; like the homeless man beside her, she might never truly have her disorder treated, and she would only wind up back in the emergency room again - whether that happened in restraints or a body bag couldn't be easily determined then, and that unknown factor left me with chills. Once again, I wanted to cry for her.

It was cases like that when I ordinarily would have called Erik after my shift to give my emotions an outlet before they could eat away at me for too long, and I was reminded of the silence between us then. Starkly aware of our lacking contact, I was missing him very much that afternoon. It had only been days, but it felt like a lifetime had passed since we had last spoken; it seemed that I had grown more accustomed to his presence than I had been entirely mindful of, and I didn't like the emptiness that his absence inspired in me. And I knew that, if I was unable to speak with him at work, the evening would once again be spent without that phone call, without any sort of guidance or sympathy from him. It might have been selfish on my part, but it was painful to consider. Yet I tried not to dwell on that possibility then, forcing myself to remain optimistic with the superstitious belief that doing anything else would only invite a poor outcome between us.

When eventually the day wound down and my resident handed me my evaluation sheet, I spoke with her briefly about the experience, thanked her for her time and input, and made my way from the department. By then, I had been hoping to catch sight of Erik, now with the idea in mind that I wanted to share yet another favorable evaluation with him even as we spoke of other, more serious topics.

As it turned out, he was in the middle of a trauma when I finally located him, but I wouldn't be deterred then even by that slight delay. I had to ensure his wellbeing, and I wanted to know once and for all if our friendship was still somehow salvageable - because it _had_ to be salvageable; I wasn't willing to lose it then, and I only needed to be the one to reach out to him, I was sure. And so, knowing that he'd have to pass me on his way out of the room when he finished with his patient, I waited close by until the moment arrived that he attempted to leave. But to my dismay, when that happened and he actually saw me, he immediately tried to break eye-contact and continue on his way. Unwilling to submit to his deflection, I stubbornly blocked his path, softly demanding that we speak then. He sighed and looked very nearly about to refuse, but ultimately relented, grudging though his acceptance seemed to be. From there, we walked away together in order to find somewhere quiet to speak. Doing so was no small feat that day - both the doctor's lounge and the on-call room were occupied, and it was obvious that neither location would be vacated for our purposes in the near future. Ignoring that slight inconvenience, soon enough we managed to find a place away from it all in the ER's drug lockup room. The small and narrow space itself had a window on the door to ensure that nothing could be stolen or tampered with, but otherwise it was closed off enough from the rest of the department that we felt our privacy would mostly remain intact while we spoke.

Upon arrival, I moved aside to allow Erik to walk in ahead of me, and closed the door firmly behind me as I approached his side.

"Hey, stranger," he said softly - somewhat reservedly - leaning against the countertop with a forced casualness that didn't escape my notice. And as I looked at him that much more closely then, I was immediately taken aback by his appearance, absently realizing that I hadn't quite considered him entirely when initially confronting him or during our journey to the room.

Not for the first time since we began working together and I grew more accustomed to his mannerisms, I realized that there was something wrong with him then. The telltale unease in his demeanor - in the tense way that he carried himself on exceedingly demanding days - that was present in those moments was no different from similar past instances. He just looked so...exhausted, his eyes pleading for a relief that I knew neither of us could provide - though certainly not for lack of trying on my part. He was agitated as well, made distinctly uncomfortable by the unwanted focus of attention on him within the department. And while I could understand and place the source of his agitation to a degree, it was that unmistakable and lasting weariness, some unnamed burden far beyond the skewing of our coworkers' perspective of him, that made me uneasy - it made me worry for him then as I had on so many occasions before. It was yet another point that needed to be addressed in the course of the looming discussion, although I suspected even then that not much would come of that line of questioning. Because if I asked what was bothering him - if I offered to help - I was sure that he would stubbornly dismiss me. He was too proud for his own good, and he didn't seem to trust me enough to lower his defenses - another source of contention between us that caused me more distress than I cared to admit. He couldn't keep allowing himself to suffer, yet I couldn't even begin to determine how to help him, either. Not without his input or cooperation.

But putting my concern aside for the moment, I responded, my voice bearing more accusation than intended, "I'm only a stranger now because you won't talk to me."

"I thought I'd made it clear before that I wasn't going to."

"I hoped that you only said that because you were mad," I said, unable to hide the forlorn tone in my voice at the significance - the continued _determination_ \- of his words.

"I wasn't mad at _you_. But that doesn't mean I wasn't serious," then added sharply, "When I said I needed you to leave me alone from now on, I meant it."

" _You_ made that decision, though. All on your own," I stated bluntly, unwilling to allow him to give up so easily - still sincerely not believing then that he actually would - nor to condone the acrimony he leveled to me, and continued, "I didn't agree to it."

Instead of giving a direct response, he broke eye-contact with me altogether, nodding to the front pocket of my labcoat, "What's in the envelope?"

Annoyed by his clear attempt to avoid the topic, I responded just the same, "I wanted to show you my eval for this last rotation."

"Is this a tradition now?" he asked, offering a sad, tense smile, "Do I have to open it?"

Unable to dismiss the memory of what opening my last evaluation letter had brought about between us, I returned his smile half-heartedly, "Don't worry, I already did. My resident went over it with me, and I did well. Apparently I have a knack for reaching patients."

"I could've told you that."

"Still, it was harder than I imagined, even after being warned. I missed talking to you about everything that happened during those shifts," I said, then forced him to meet my eyes again, "I missed talking to _you_. It's only been a few days, but it feels like longer."

"I should get back to work," he said evasively, attempting to step past me.

"Please, just wait," I said as I blocked his retreat. He closed his eyes as I stood before him, a gesture of forced patience on his part, looking almost like a wild animal that had been cornered; but he made no further move to walk out, and so I was encouraged to continue, "Give me a few more minutes."

"What do you think that'll accomplish?"

"Will you just _listen_ to me? I think you owe me that much."

"I _owe_ you that much?" he asked incredulously.

"You offered me your friendship - "

" - _You_ offered - "

" - Then reneged when something went wrong. So, yes. I think you owe me an explanation, at least. A few minutes of your time won't kill you."

He sighed, but finally retreated back to stand by the countertop as he spoke, "I don't know how else to explain it to you."

"Then that can wait for now," I compromised, taking a moment to collect my thoughts before saying, "I just...I want to know how you're holding up in all of this."

"You mean since your friend decided to play detective?" he asked, then added with a bitter smile, "Not very well. I've been back _one_ day, and I already have people second-guessing my treatment plans, or asking me questions. It's driving me insane."

"I think they feel like they're doing the right thing, trying to get answers from the source."

"I don't think that's what it is," he scoffed, "It's human nature at its finest. It's being intrusive. And besides, they won't be getting anything from me anyway. I keep things like this private for a _reason_. I never intended to let anyone know this much about me."

"I'm sorry, Erik," I said, regretting that my suspicions about his work becoming difficult had been confirmed, distantly wondering how much worse it would get before people lost interest as I said, "I just wish you'd at least talk to me about it. There's no reason why you can't."

"Yes, there is. And what good would that do anyway?"

"Why deal with it alone?"

Pointedly ignoring my question, he asked instead, "Is that all?"

" _No_. I wanted to talk about us, too. The last time we were together - "

" - It is what it is," he snapped, clearly growing more frustrated and uncomfortable with each new avenue of the conversation. And I knew then, however distantly, that I should back off, even just a bit; my current approach wasn't benefiting either of us. Remembering my earlier conviction that he required time and distance when he felt threatened, I knew that I would accomplish nothing if I pushed him too far. But still, I just couldn't bring myself to relent so easily; for vastly different reasons, his discomfort inspired my own, fanned its flames to the point of my own recklessness. Each time Erik withdrew, I became more desperate to resolve what had happened between us, desperate to compel him to change his mind so that we could somehow return to our friendship. In spite of everything that he'd been saying to the contrary, I couldn't allow that continued distance between us. If keeping him talking - if simply keeping him in the same room alone with me - meant that he'd ultimately see his mistake and take back his damning words, then I had to chance his ire and each setback we built together in the process.

So I pressed on, "Can't you tell me why you're dead-set on ending this friendship?"

"I _did_ tell you why," he said impatiently, his frustration mounting anew.

"In the simplest terms, yes. But I need you to help me understand, because what you said the other day clearly only scratched the surface."

He paused, finally relinquishing his stance to ignore my questions as he asked, "Do you honestly think your friend would've given me a second thought if you and I hadn't known each other? If we weren't friends?"

"No...probably not," I admitted.

"People left me alone before. If they hated me, they did so quietly. No one cared what I did here or in the past, so long as I did my job."

I sighed, remembering his desire for his life and his work to remain entirely separate entities, and regretting that he had now lost that balance indefinitely. With that realization - and now with the vague sense of my own unwilling role in his crisis - I could only murmur, "And then I came along…"

"It's not your fault, Christine," he said, softening his tone, "I just think that if we hadn't met each other, if we hadn't gotten so close, Chaney wouldn't have decided to do what he did."

"But it happened. We'll handle it, but there's no changing it, _or_ what happened between us before all of this," I ventured, "So why end the friendship altogether?"

"Because I'm selfish," he sighed, that phrase far too familiar to us both by then. I was admittedly confused by the evasiveness of the statement, but I didn't want to risk pushing him away with further questions on that matter; rather, it seemed wiser to wait for him to decide to go down that path on his own. There was a tense silence for a time after that; he seemed to measure his words before speaking again, and while I knew that he spoke them with honesty, a part of me also suspected that he wasn't telling me the entire story, and I was disappointed by that fact as he continued, "I don't want something like this happening again. And I don't want to give anyone more fodder against me, _or_ against you. Nevermind me, I don't want a separate string of rumors starting up about you. If we stop here, neither of us will get hurt more."

"But I'm already hurt - "

" - I know - "

" - No, let me finish," I held up a hand to halt his words, more determined then than ever for him to hear me, to understand my part in the situation. I wanted to repair the bonds that had been severed between us, but that didn't mean he could continue to dismiss me. I had to stand my ground on every point if I wanted anything positive to come of this encounter; his avoidance was proof enough of that, "I know that you don't want trouble with your work, and I respect that. But I'm not worried about myself, and neither should you. My problem is with your approach," I admitted, "Because I'm hurt that you're always so willing to run. You try to bail out as soon as something bad happens, and the last time it wasn't even between us."

"Not directly, but - "

" - It doesn't _matter_. I want to help, to understand. _Something_. You know that I care about you, and you're my friend, but you were awfully quick to throw me out."

"I didn't throw you out," he said defensively, then amended, "I didn't want to."

"Then why is it so easy for you to walk away now?"

"It isn't. At all."

I rolled my eyes, "It feels that way. It makes me wonder if you ever really wanted me in the first place."

His eyes snapped up to meet mine, "You think I didn't?"

"I have nothing else to go off, if you think about it," I shrugged, feeling petty for doing so - for choosing the words I had - but once again unable to act otherwise. Everything that we had been through before that day - every near-embrace and stolen glance, every discussion of why nothing more could happen - had caught up to me then, all of my resolve to appreciate what we had in the wake of our ignored affection fled in my anger at the unfair circumstances. Feeling entirely without options, I couldn't help that pettiness escaping me.

There was only another heavy silence between us in response. Erik stared at me for a time, anger in his eyes that I was sure mirrored my own - though I could not say whether that anger was meant for me or for himself. Yet mingled in that expression just the same was somehow almost an air of disbelief, as if he couldn't comprehend how I could ever doubt his affection. Distantly, I noted his hands gripping the countertop so tightly that the knuckles had turned white, his posture incredibly tense as he stood otherwise motionless before me. It seemed as if he was deliberating then, stubbornly attempting to argue with himself about what course of action he could possibly take next - only, it appeared, to lose that unspoken fight.

Determinedly, and so swiftly that I felt my breath catch at his movements, he pushed away from the counter, reached behind his head to untie the surgical mask, and approached me. Taking my shoulders in his hands - tightly so, though not enough to actually cause me pain - he pulled me flush against him and kissed me. It was an almost desperate gesture, so different from the first embraces we shared that they seemed to belong to another lifetime, to other people far and away from us. He deepened the kiss almost immediately upon contact, holding me securely to him in a wordless plea for understanding, for acceptance, for something that neither of us could quite capture or properly convey. Stunned at first, I quickly remembered myself even so, and responded to him with as much urgency as he extended. Wrapping my arms around him, I could only hope that he understood that I wanted his kiss then, that unclear though his intentions were, I wanted to share that singular form of contact even in this unconventional manner of channeling it. Whatever came of that nearly desperate action - whatever had truly inspired it - didn't matter. I only knew that I didn't want him to let go, not then and not ever - if nothing else, I was absolutely certain that I didn't want to lose him.

And then - all too soon and much to my disappointment - he pulled away from me again, stepping backward sharply as if he feared he had done something wrong.

"I'm sorry," he said breathlessly, seeming to force his composure to return.

I shook my head, "Don't be sorry. Just speak."

"I _did_ want you, Christine," he said softly, if not a bit helplessly, giving a half-hearted shrug as he added, "I still do."

"Then you can _have_ me," I insisted, "I never said you couldn't. _You_ did."

"I know. And that hasn't changed," he said.

"Tell me why."

"It's complicated."

"Stop," I responded sharply, once again more so than I had intended, "Stop feeding me that bullshit, Erik. 'It's complicated' isn't enough to justify this. There's more going on with you than you're saying. And to be honest, it's scaring me," I admitted, the idea of his wellbeing suddenly returning to the forefront of my thoughts at his steadfastly continuing avoidance of straight and clear answers. In some ways, he was making sense - and in others, something didn't add up. In my mind's eye in those moments, past images flashed with a startling intensity. I suddenly remembered every headache he attempted to manage as we navigated the emergency department together, remembered each time he tried to hide away at work as if being there was burning him alive. Looking back, his behavior struck me as almost disturbing, that near-desperation and perceived suffering always just beneath the surface of the facade of his professionalism. There was far more to him than I had taken the time to realize, and it seemed that I was paying for it now. Had I missed something in my own infatuation, something that could have been helped or prevented? That prospect and each of its implications terrified me then as I asked imploringly, "What _is_ it? Are you sick, or...?"

"No," he said quickly, before laughing humorlessly, "Maybe."

" _Tell me_ what it is."

He sighed, pausing once more before making his resigned and nearly hesitant admission, "My anxiety's gotten bad again, and I've been trying to handle it. That's it."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, once again sensing that he was omitting potentially important pieces of information, but choosing to continue on so long as he was at least talking.

He shrugged, "I have to handle it alone."

I sighed again, dismayed that he had indeed rejected my help - just as I had assumed he would - yet I insisted just the same, "You don't have to be alone."

"Christine - "

" - I can help, I can try to fix - "

" - You can't _fix_ me!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry" I whispered, realizing too late that my words must have sounded uncaring, "I didn't mean it as an insult. But - "

" - No," he said quickly, almost pleadingly, "I mean you really _can't_. I can, and I'm trying. But I need to do it on my own."

"You _don't have to_ , though. You shouldn't have to."

He sighed, "Even if I didn't have this to deal with, that doesn't change what Chaney did. And I don't want more to come of it. I really _do_ wish this was different."

Even as I formed the words, I knew he wouldn't waver on his stance. But I had to try - I still couldn't bring myself to give up even as I was losing ground once again, "Then what happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I need to know where we stand."

"I told you where we stand. Christine, _please_ , I said - "

" - I know what you said. I need to know if you meant it."

"I did. I don't...I don't know what else can be said anymore," he shrugged again - an air of helplessness returning with the gesture - and when I made no attempt to respond to that, he murmured, "I'm sorry," and once again turned toward the door.

I grabbed his arm before he could completely move away from me, before he could make his final escape, "Erik, stop. You don't get to run away this time. There's still something you aren't telling me."

"I've told you what I can. Please, _please_ just stop asking me. We can't continue this friendship. _That's all._ It isn't your fault, and it isn't what I want. This is just the way it has to be."

"But you said - "

" - I know."

"You're really telling me that you're going to end it all?" I asked. He didn't respond, but rather met my eyes with immeasurable guilt in his own - guilt, yet determination. Only then did it truly sink in that he wouldn't be swayed, that he meant to cease communication altogether. And upon making that realization, I played my last card, "Erik, I don't want to lose you."

But once again, my words were met with silence. I could only look away as my composure faded, humiliated then that I had tears in my eyes. I didn't know what else to say, what else to think by then. I only knew in those moments that I felt my heart breaking, and I couldn't understand why it was so devastating to face his final and uncompromising dissolution of our friendship - why it _had_ to be the end of us at all. I wanted nothing more than for everything between us to be different, from the nature of our relationship to the events that had ultimately torn it apart. Ever since his first rejection, I always had wanted that change even as I came to terms with not crossing the line between amiable companionship and defined romance; and now, once and for all, it was clear that I would never get that. Erik and I would never be together, and now we could no longer even be friends. That was perhaps the worst part of it; he had been in my life in some capacity for so long by then, had affected me more than I would have thought possible, and I hadn't expected him to be removed from my side so abruptly - so permanently. It was more painful than I could've imagined, and all I could do in the wake of that pain was cry.

Sighing - a low and drawn sound that seemed to reflect everything I felt then - Erik stepped closer to me again. Taking me in his arms, gently this time, he pulled me into a tight embrace - holding onto me both in comfort for my sake, and as if letting go would absolutely destroy him in turn. I returned the gesture fiercely, adamantly regretting that we had so few shared embraces during our time together. Had I known how it would end, I would have spoken up far sooner, would have done everything in my power to prevent this outcome. We stood that way for an immeasurable time, once again giving ourselves to the relative silence of the room, broken only by the dull and consistent din from the department beyond our hideaway. We were all but motionless until he pulled back enough to meet my eyes once more. And in the next instant, now seemingly without having to force himself to take that leap, he kissed me again - slowly and deeply, with an aching regret that was obvious in his every movement all the while. He opened his mouth to the kiss, and I responded immediately as he held me that much closer - I lost myself in the taste of his lips, the sensation of his arms around me, determined to hold on to that moment for as long as possible and knowing just the same that it likely would never happen again. My heart broke all over again as I kissed him, but I wouldn't let that deter me from conveying just how I felt, from accepting the sentiment for what it was as he did the same.

When we parted, he touched his forehead to mine, whispering, "We can't do this again. But I swear, I _swear_ I want to," he moved to meet my eyes evenly, "I don't want it to be this way, you have to know that."

I pulled away further, now feeling with absolute clarity the shift between asking for answers and understanding to pleading for more time, for one more shred of hope as I said simply, "Then don't _let it_ be this way. Please, don't do this."

"I'm sorry, honey," he began, "I just - "

At that moment, the door rattled as someone abruptly entered, startling us from the heavy conversation. Still standing in Erik's embrace - tears lingering and ready to fall from my eyes - I turned to see Raoul attempting to walk in, seeming to not recognize us initially.

"Sorry," he said with an awkward laugh. But then realization crept into his eyes in the next second. Immediately noting my tears and clearly misunderstanding them and the tension in the room, he reached out, took my arm, and attempted to pull me away, "Christine, come here."

But before I could say anything to prevent what was unfolding, Erik intercepted Raoul's movement quickly before he could effectively take ahold of me, ushering him into the hallway and saying sharply, "Back off."

"Did you hurt her?" Raoul snapped, forcefully shoving Erik away from him and looking very ready to fight.

"Of course not! What are you _doing_?" Erik asked, his voice raised as he pushed him back against the wall, taking a firm hold of his shirt collar as he did so, a clear measure of preemptive self-defense even as it seemed that they were both just barely managing to control their tempers.

"Riley! Chaney!" Dr. Khan's voice now - more angry and authoritative than I had ever heard it before then - sounded from further down the hallway. Walking up to our small group, he seemed to believe that he had just interrupted a far more involved confrontation and immediately chose to intervene, "Take a walk, both of you."

"Dr. Khan," Raoul began when Erik released him, "I'm - "

" - I said take a walk," he ordered, then to Erik, "Come with me."

And it all ended as abruptly as it had began; the conflict, the preceding conversation, all that occurred had vanished in the span of mere seconds - along with any lingering hope I might have naively still held for a more favorable outcome between Erik and I. Ignoring me entirely, he shot one last withering glance at Raoul before following Dr. Khan, replacing the mask in light of the daunting reality of being made to present himself to his colleagues as he went elsewhere. Raoul then attempted to speak to me as I hovered in the doorway in my shock, an explanation clearly just on the tip of his tongue as he did so. But I wouldn't hear him - I absolutely refused to listen to his effort to justify his assumptions and protective behavior in those moments. Once again, they had only caused me more unnecessary problems and misunderstandings, ones that I now had to find a way to resolve all over again. Sharply returning to the present and collecting my thoughts and some semblance of my composure, I brushed past him with more force than was required; absently, I acknowledged feeling guilty for my rude behavior, yet just the same I found myself relieved that he had taken the hint and hadn't attempted to follow me.

Schooling my features to be more neutral in the presence of my peers and coworkers, I determinedly made my way through the ER in the direction that I assumed Dr. Khan and Erik had gone, acutely aware of the whispers and questioning glances in my direction even as I feigned nonchalance. Too late I realized that the others had likely heard the unexpected commotion from just moments before, had probably seen Erik storming through the main floor after being removed from the situation, and it seemed that they were already beginning to weigh in with their opinions. But there was nothing more I could do then besides carry on and pray to undo what had just taken place - once again, my involvement with Erik had caused him problems that would likely affect his work and his credibility within the department, and I had no idea what to do with any of that complicated situation anymore. I could only handle one issue at a time, and thus chose to at least attempt to ask after his wellbeing for the moment - everything else could be sorted out later. I had to believe that at least _that_ chance still remained and hope to build from there. Once again, it was all I had left. Keeping that thought in mind to strengthen my courage, it wasn't long before I found him and Dr. Khan again in the doctor's lounge - now thankfully otherwise empty - Erik sitting at the table with his head in his hands in a gesture seemingly meant to force himself to calm down.

"Are you alright?" I asked, approaching where he sat but stopping short when his eyes snapped up to meet mine.

"I'll be fine," he said firmly, though his voice was strained even as he made that assurance, "Can you just leave?" he asked, standing up to face me, "This is exactly what I was talking about. Everything with Chaney, with you...this _has to stop_."

"Erik - "

" - _Please_ , just go home," he stepped back, "Your shift's over, isn't it?" he asked. I nodded, but refused to leave then, even as I was aware of his anger and Dr. Khan's eyes studying me. Frustrated, Erik repeated, "Then _go_ _home_ , Christine. We're done here."

"But - "

" - We're done."

Now rendered entirely speechless by the gravity of his words, I could only stare at him then; his returning gaze was once again relentless in his determination, his bright eyes - so recently painted with compassion, displaying his heart for me to see - were now otherwise cold and impassive above the surgical mask. He was all but a stranger to me then, the warmth I had come to know from him - that he had extended in his kiss, in his embrace - was replaced by the carefully constructed distance that he had steadfastly showed when we first met. The finality, the unwavering conviction of Erik's words echoed in my mind as I continued looking at him, silently begging him to redact his stance and wishing fiercely that I had somehow been mistaken. Anything would've been better than the truth. But it wasn't long before I simply couldn't deny his meaning, couldn't take any more of his silence, and thus did exactly what he asked of me. Unwilling to let my tears return and fall again to be witnessed by him and so many others, I just turned and left the room.

And I knew all the while that there was no going back from that significant event, from everything that had happened that day or any before it. That was the end; the friendship was over, warped and ultimately forfeited by events beyond our control - over before it ever had a chance to become something more. And, it seemed, all for nothing. What good could possibly come from what had happened, what could be learned? I couldn't find the answer, nor did I think it would make a difference even if I had. The reasons didn't matter, when it was all said and done. Everything we had - anything we still _could_ have had under different circumstances - was long-gone, unwillingly relinquished even after so many truths had become apparent to us both. Too much damage had occurred, and there was simply nothing more to be done - it was over, that much was now absolutely undeniable.

I regretted that more than anything else in those moments.

~~oOo~~

Erik

I had thought for a time - however fleeting and inconsistent though it might have been - that I was beginning to belong in Chicago; so much so that, even when having to face off with my own demons after living so long without them, I still wasn't compelled to run elsewhere in search of some semblance of peace or attachment in my life - not anymore. And that in itself was monumental for me, almost absurdly out of character to actively seek to stay in one place for so long, always determined to find a way to remain there long-term. Only for that distinct sense of _finally_ settling down to be taken away, steadily and nearly irrevocably over time - and, as it turned out, I was powerless to prevent that looming outcome all the while. First the transfer to the ER - that absolute and heartrending stress the disruption had caused - and then the recurrence of drinking, the mounting anxiety, and now the rumors that were following me. I had wanted nothing more than to do my work in the hospital, to ease into my routine and behave myself. But what had once been a relatively uncomplicated place for me to go and function now only assaulted me, all to the point that I dreaded going there to begin with. When I first started in the emergency department, my main concern was how I would handle the troubling matters it presented, how I would cope with coming face-to-face with bitter realities each day I worked there. _That_ issue still remained, but was intensified now by my inability to work properly there.

Three or so weeks had passed since Raoul Chaney's so-called investigation on my behalf, and the ramifications of his actions were swift and seemingly enduring. Rumors about my past spread quickly throughout my department and likely far beyond it, all amid the prevalent disbelief that my story was as simple as it appeared, thus turning to speculations about what had _actually_ happened. Within days of the first bout, I was seen as more of a liability than a professional - untrustworthy in spite of consistently proving otherwise before. What remote respect that had once been grudgingly extended to me had now all but vanished, replaced by questions and concerns of my ability to perform my duties, the repeated provocation of my temper, and the interruption of my concentration in turn - and the fallout of each factor reflected in my work soon enough. I hadn't made any deadly mistakes thus far, but I wasn't willing to wait and see what the breaking point would be for that to happen. It was for _exactly_ those reasons that I did not advertise what I'd done all those years ago, why I didn't brag about the legal troubles I had faced at a time when I had no real concept of long-term consequences.

The very same day I was caught in the middle of the confrontation with Chaney, I made Nadir aware of the situation. I could lie to him about everything else that was happening with me outside of the hospital - and God knows I had - but clearly I couldn't hide or deny what was taking place within our department. As such, he needed to know the origins. Unfortunately, his hands were tied regarding how to actually _manage_ the issue. There were no clear or simple answers. He wasn't anyone's parent, someone able to lecture them and dissuade their unprofessional behavior, and his status as their superior didn't mean much in this context when it was all said and done; he couldn't discipline his staff just for talking, nor could he control what took place outside of work. The best he could do was dispel any further discussions as they occurred, and remind the physicians in question to keep their minds on their work.

I never addressed the actual rumors myself, simply for the fact that I knew that no one would believe the truth. Beyond the med students, it was mostly the interns and the residents - those new to their careers and thus hadn't yet quite gotten the hang of professional detachment or discretion - that shared their interpretations and theories on my history. That in itself wasn't surprising, because such things will inevitably happen in every workplace every now and again. But it was disappointing and even hurtful - though I hated to admit _that_ \- to be the target of that brand of attack myself. And moreover, the implications were quickly proving to be more of a stark reality than an unfounded fear, and that was terrifying. I had no idea what to expect next, nor any idea of how long it would be before anyone lost interest in me and moved on. It was incredibly upsetting to live with that kind of uncertainty.

When Nadir asked me directly how I was faring through it all, however, I simply opted to lie once again, unwilling and unable to reach out for help. Altogether, it was a state of affairs that was affecting me badly, one more weight added to the precarious balance of my self-control that threatened to topple me entirely. It was all too jarring to manage, too much for me to handle all at once and on my own. And at the end of the day, I ultimately felt that I had been wrong to ever expect that I would be granted any other conclusion. I should have known better than to believe that I could live and work in relative peace. I'd gotten _too_ comfortable, it seemed, and the level of complacency with which I carried myself had effectively opened the doors for others to observe me that much more closely. I was miserable, and I was allowing myself to retreat further into my mind, isolating myself that much more all the while. And in the end, that self-inflicted isolation had cost me my friendship with Christine.

I didn't blame her for what had happened between us, nor for what her friend had done - in spite of it all, I couldn't bring myself to resent her in the least. She wasn't accountable for my distress or responsible for my wellbeing. I hadn't lied when I told her that my distancing myself stemmed from valuing my privacy, from ensuring that she wouldn't get caught in the crossfire of my problems; doing so meant that I could maintain my justification that I was protecting her. But it went deeper than that - she had rightly assumed that I wasn't telling her everything. Yet even if I had been willing to do so, the problem remained that I simply didn't know how. I couldn't even begin to find an easy or painless way to explain who I was, and why. I was toxic - there was no other way of defining it - and I'd done enough damage as it stood; trying to maintain my friendship with her when far deeper emotions complicated everything - entering into that friendship in the first place - had been a resounding mistake. Because from the beginning, I'd acted as I had to keep from hurting her, but I had still done just that after all - that much had been glaringly obvious the last time we were together, the last time I held her as she begged me to stay. I couldn't even handle being her friend, nevermind anything more significant. Our relationship - whatever it could rightly be defined as - had gotten very complicated, and very quickly, always becoming more convoluted as I attempted to do as much as I could in her favor. I couldn't be trusted with my own heart, apparently, and the fault was my own.

But I couldn't say that I was surprised, really - not about anything that had happened. I had set it all into motion years ago. It wasn't just about stealing the car, or going into the Army, or anything else that had meticulously and effectively warped me over the years. It was the simple fact that I had acted a long time ago without thinking, without caring, and once again I was paying for it - more so than I had ever thought possible. And I was letting it all eat away at me again, falling further each day into relentless anxiety and a steadily worsening depression that was growing more and more difficult to manage - it crept in and took ahold of me, slowly at first as it began attempting the final blow. It was a cycle I couldn't escape - at least, I didn't know how to do so effectively, or any time soon.

Yet I tried desperately just to not think about _any_ of it. I didn't want to be an active participant in my life - not anymore. And that was part of the problem. I couldn't bring myself to live with it all; but at the same time, I couldn't hide forever or force myself to forget, either. And so, sincerely believing that I had only one escape left for me, once again I found solace at the bottom of a bottle and determined that I would remain there indefinitely.


	10. One More Time, Interlude

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back! The title of this interlude was inspired by lyrics from the song "Mary Jane's Last Dance" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Thank you all so much for all the love, and remember to leave a review - but most of all, enjoy!_

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Interlude 2 - One More Time to Kill the Pain

Erik

I was drunk again, wasting another night alone, left up to my own devices and knowing perfectly damn well that I _shouldn't_ have been. Because this was one of too many evenings lately that I was considering myself on a bender with no end in sight. My drinking had been bad before, but now it was a crisis - that much I could say with complete certainty, all things considered. And it didn't bode well for me, I knew - anxiety and alcohol _really_ should never be allowed to share the same headspace unchecked. But I had continued on in that capacity just the same, each night worse than the last. And in being perfectly honest, I felt absolutely pathetic for acting as I had, adding that unpleasant sensation to the already too-long list of things that I would prefer to ignore or forget entirely; which was, of course, exactly my goal.

It was December by then - early December, not yet officially winter, though not quite feeling like it was still autumn. Somewhere in limbo, much like myself. And that was really all I was aware of that night. No other details of reality were strong enough to meet my consciousness with any true sense of clarity; anything and everything else was a blur before my eyes, lost in a haze of my own making. Every action at that point was born of either instinct or repetition - I wasn't capable of much else. Three or four solid weeks of forced isolation, more so than I had known for over a year, had only served to strain my limited sanity and waning sense of self-preservation that much further - and let's be honest, there wasn't much of _either_ left in me to begin with. I was, for all intents and purposes, as out of control as I could be without physically harming myself, and even that wasn't guaranteed to last. I was actually starting to scare myself more each day, this particular evening proving to be one of the worst. So many weeks had passed now since I had spoken to Nadir even half-truthfully, or Christine at all - yet it felt like far longer, and the weight of that loneliness was continuing to take its toll with a vengeance. I had spent the majority of that time attempting to forget just how endless those hours felt - how thoroughly lost I was - and failing each time, even when I would begin to assume that I was gaining some ground.

But, choosing not to dwell on _that_ misery for the moment, instead I stood up from the eating bar where I had been nursing a bottle of Jack, stumbling as I made my way back to the living room. I had lost count of how many times I had been back and forth that night, searching for something I couldn't exactly name and could never quite find. A part of me - however small it had become - wanted to find peace of mind in some other activity, some outlet other than what I had chosen to occupy myself - _anything_ but this fucking mess.

This time around, I sat at the piano with forced determination, yet once again was frustrated beyond words that I couldn't even begin to think of something to play, couldn't collect my thoughts long enough just to try. It was hopeless to even bother, really; even if my mind was functioning properly, my coordination was shot. Sighing, I stood again and began to pace, having no real idea in mind for what to do with myself next. I couldn't settle down; I was exhausted, but I couldn't bring myself to attempt to do anything about it then. When I started drinking again, it had been for the sake of simply resting, of putting my mind at ease when I sincerely believed that nothing else helped me whatsoever. Now, the rest I sought didn't even appeal to me. When I poured my next shot, it was with the promise of oblivion in mind. I didn't want to sleep - I wanted to forget about myself _entirely_...indefinitely.

The amount of alcohol I had taken to consuming now bordered on suicidal, had now became a regular fixture in my life - every night was the same, worsening each time until I was all but incapacitated, alone and unsure of how else to move forward.

 _What am I doing?_

I stubbornly ignored the distant thought; logic and responsibility were lost on me then, had been forfeited a long time ago. For the moment, I could only concentrate on what was immediately relevant, on the instant that internal and external struggle met forcefully. The silence steadily enveloping me now was torture - my house was too empty, my footsteps or the dull sound of the glass returning to the countertop still seemed to echo in my mind in spite of their muted nature, jarring me back to a reality I didn't want to take part in anymore. Agitated, I paced again through the lower floor of the house, Rex trailing along nervously behind me all the while, as he had been now for hours. He was _trying_ to do his work, poor kid - but I was in no state of mind to allow him to do so. I was far beyond the kind of help that he could offer then. That was the problem with living with an anxiety disorder - if it went rampant and untreated for too long, it inevitably led to impaired judgment, to seeking isolation, which invariably led to depression. And that swiftly advancing depression ultimately forced me down a dark path somewhere deep within myself, one that I had absolutely _no_ business being near anymore.

It might have been snowing then, turning the landscape beyond my windows into a silent yet escalating frenzy, a force of nature mirroring my state of mind almost exactly. That, or I truly was losing my sanity - had finally lost it altogether - the whole world spinning out of control around me, yet somehow separated from me all at once. But I _sincerely_ didn't want to consider which option was the truth in those moments - I was unsettled enough then as it stood. Ignoring my mounting unease and the telltale signs of things to come, I sat down again at the eating bar, now holding my head in my hands as the room twisted uncontrollably around me.

And I had done it to myself, had this and so many other nights to play out this way, because I had actively chosen to relinquish my freedom of will to something I knew better than to accept. I couldn't decide what the worst part about it truly was. _Pathetic_. This is what I had fostered my life to become, and I hated it; I couldn't stop thinking about it, any of it. Every instance if pain, every wrong choice and misstep played out like a damaged reel in my mind's eye, mocking and deranged and disjointed. My thoughts raced, but that one idea stood out amid the chaos. I was pathetic - full of a burdening hatred I didn't know whether to place on myself or the world at large - trapped in a life that I didn't want to live.

That I didn't want to live…

 _Stop!_

And something in me finally broke then. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like I was falling away from myself and drowning under the weight of my problems all at once. My ears rang - some unnamed and deafening sound threatening to finally drive me insane once and for all - and my eyes stung with the unshed tears of absolute panic. I was very distantly aware of the sound of my breathing - too fast, too shallow, absolutely out of control - realizing too late that I was very much in the middle of a severe anxiety attack.

Yet in those moments, I couldn't bring myself to remember how to stop it on my own, how to come out of it; rather, I let it continue until I was sure it would shatter me then and there. Desperate to regain even the smallest semblance of control somehow, I slammed my trembling fists onto the surface of the counter, the force rattling the whiskey bottle and the now-empty shot glass. I couldn't keep going on like this - I knew _exactly_ where it was going, and I didn't want to go through it again. I wasn't sure if I could. Beyond that mounting and ebbing terror - beyond the reasons behind it - I was simply livid in the face of my reality. I was livid, and I was afraid, more so now than ever. The cycle of drinking and depression and isolation could only go on for so long before it swallowed me whole, and I knew from past experiences that I was nearing the end of the pattern.

But for the first time since reentering into that life, I knew with absolute certainty that I had to stop it, that I wanted to. This _could not_ go on - something had to change, and immediately.

I was already _well_ beyond drunk when I picked up my phone - of that, I was entirely certain, because I knew for damn sure that I wouldn't have been willing to reach out to anyone if I had been sober. I don't remember moving to get it, was barely conscious of choosing the number I dialed, or even actively making the decision to do so - but even so I was somehow still able to control what I was doing, my movements mechanical even in my chaotic desperation.

The phone rang twice before Nadir answered, "Erik?"

"I need to talk to you," I said slowly, aware that I was badly slurring my words, but that it couldn't be helped by that point. But I hadn't necessarily intended to hide it anyway, so appearing graceless over the phone was of very little concern to me by then.

"What's going on?" he asked, the worry evident in his voice as he pressed, "Is everything alright?"

"No. Can you come over?"

 _What am I doing?_

He seemed to speak with Sahra for a moment, making hasty plans before he responded, "Hang on, I'm on my way," he said, then repeated urgently, "What's going on?"

 _Too late to go back now._

I hesitated, then said softly, defeatedly, "I need help."


	11. Bridge Over Troubled Water

**Author's Note:** _Hot damn, I'm updating when I said I would? Wow. Don't worry, I'm as shocked as y'all are. :P But seriously, welcome back and thank you all again for your support and feedback, as well as those newcomers that have been kind enough to follow and favorite! I'm so glad y'all enjoyed the last interlude. I hope that you'll find this chapter to be just as satisfying to read! Here we'll get a little more insight into our characters' histories - some explicit, others...not so much. So enjoy the guessing game! But fear not, everything will be revealed in due time. For now, please let me know what you think of this chapter - I did a ton of research for it, but if I was mistaken on any details, please don't hesitate to let me know! I always appreciate the constructive feedback - it's a huge help, believe me! Finally, the first section of this chapter (in italics) was heavily inspired by the opening scene of the ER episode entitled, "The Gallant Soldier and the Tragic Victor," and while I didn't stick too heavily to that storyline here, it played a huge role in how I wrote this section just the same. Also, the title for this chapter was inspired by lyrics to the Simon and Garfunkel song of the same name. It's definitely one of my favorites and one that I think reflects Erik and Nadir's friendship in many ways, especially Nadir's dedication to the friendship in regards to how much he keeps his friend going. So I definitely recommend y'all check it out :D Welp, I believe that's about it. Please remember to review and let me know what you think, and most of all, enjoy!_

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Chapter 8 - Bridge Over Troubled Water

Erik

 _I am an American Soldier.  
I am a Warrior and a member of a team.  
I serve the people of the United States and live the Army Values._

 _I will always place the mission first._  
 _I will never accept defeat._  
 _I will never quit._  
 _I will never leave a fallen comrade._

 _I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills._  
 _I always maintain my arms, my equipment, and myself._  
 _I am an expert and I am a professional._  
 _I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies of the United States of America in close combat._  
 _I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life._  
 _I am an American Soldier._

 _\- The Soldier's Creed, 2003_

" _I, Erik Riley, having been appointed an officer in the Army of the United States, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign or domestic, that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservations or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter. So help me God."_

 _\- Oath of Office, United States Army_

 **Six Years Previously, New York City NY** \- _It was the middle of the night, but even so there were still sounds of activity around me, subdued then but never really halted - those needing to work attempted to do so as quietly as possible for the sake of the patients sleeping in their respective rooms. Though, I doubted anyone was actually resting - it was almost impossible there, in that environment, under those circumstances. I certainly couldn't sleep, even as badly as I needed to. The medication running through my IV was doing nothing to stop the pain - dilute it, maybe, if I was exceptionally lucky or forced myself to concentrate on something, anything else. But it never stopped entirely. And that near-constant pain only served to take me back to its source, back to Afghanistan and the war and everything that had happened there only weeks prior to that night. Some details were lost to time and trauma - they are even now - but I could never completely forget the day it happened, how it happened; the roadside bomb, the impending conclusion of my military career and the disastrous chain of events that followed, they could never be taken back. Lying in the burn unit of that VA hospital, so recently becoming one of many nameless statistics, I couldn't even begin to imagine then what it all meant for me. Once again, the course of my life had been altered dramatically, the only decision that was my own having been leaving my service._

 _I had to lie perfectly still - I'd learned quickly enough what the consequences would be if I didn't - but doing so didn't bring me even a shred of relief, didn't bring me any closer to actually falling asleep. If anything, I'd only succeeded in making myself that much more tense and miserable. Sighing, I closed my eyes in frustration, willing the meds to do_ something _and praying that my heartbeat would slow down, that it would stop pounding so loudly. But all I achieved in doing so was inviting the memories to creep back - I had no idea how to keep them away for long. I didn't know then that it was anxiety, the red flags of PTSD raised high and ready to attack. Still without a proper diagnosis, I didn't realize that the images in my mind would continue to come back to me again and again, yet only in fragments, distorted and mangled things that were something more akin to nightmares than truths._

 _Because in those seemingly never-ending instances, I saw it all - remembered it all - the terror and adrenaline taking ahold of me as fiercely as the first time around. In my mind's eye, I could see myself sitting huddled in the back of the truck with the others, our vehicle open to the wind and the blazing sun, both relentless around us. I remembered holding an injured child as another civilian woman screamed in someone else's arms, sounds I would never forget. Our convoy had been racing to another location, escaping, methodical even in our desperation and seeking further help. And in a perfect life, we would have made it - all of us. But without warning, a bomb had gone off up ahead, so suddenly that several of us jumped as it effectively took out the group that had left the field hospital before us. But before we could react, before we could even begin to assess the damage or get ourselves out of immediate danger, another bomb was triggered and went off beneath us._

 _A deafening blast was our only warning, our only chance for a salvation that we wouldn't get. In the span of seconds - if even that much time - I braced myself for the impact, absolutely certain that I was going to die then and there, and everything went dark just as quickly. I was only aware of pain after that, consuming and seemingly endless pain like knives driven into every single nerve, so intense that I was sure it would shatter me. And then there was nothing, only fragments of activity that didn't seem to fit properly into space and time - rescue arriving, murmurs of casualties, someone yelling to another soldier that I was a captain, to find my information, asking me questions that I couldn't answer, couldn't even begin to understand._

 _My entire existence from then on was nothing more than a blur of faces and objects, pain and eventual medication that did nothing for me, of sound and movement with no reason or closure. It was as if there was nothing left to connect me to myself or the world around me. I was only dimly aware of being transferred to a hospital in Germany before finally being sent to New York, all the while having to undergo wound debridement_ _for my injuries, an excruciating and cruel brand of torture in the guise of treating burns. It was only later that I realized the extent of the damage, horrified and embittered both by the gravity of it all and the doctors and nurses telling me that I was lucky, always saying resolutely,_ Had you been sitting further up in the truck, you'd be dead right now _. But their words lent me no solace - I truly would rather have died if survival only meant more pain, nevermind the looming consequences that I hadn't even considered then. It was too much for me to handle. Initially I could only just barely focus on what was happening to me in each moment, distantly conscious yet still finding it in myself to abandon all of my remaining pride and scream behind the oxygen mask as the doctors treated the burns. That was all I could do - scream, and wonder if I might still die._

 _And in all that time, I was alone. In spite of being surrounded by people - by medical personnel and officers and patients and God knows who else - I was entirely alone in my battle for recovery. In the beginning, as I fought to comprehend everything that had occurred, I couldn't bring myself to reach out to anyone._

 _I would be lying if I didn't say that I was ashamed of myself - of what had happened and what I had become - and moreover, I stubbornly acted under the misguided notion that I could still somehow win my pride and sense of self back if I stayed alone for the duration of my recovery, no matter how long it took. But as time went on, I couldn't stand the isolation anymore. Facing my injuries and recovery on my own was daunting, and moreover, it was unwise - I knew that even in my present state of mind. I hated to admit it, but the fact was that I couldn't go through this alone for much longer. I didn't necessarily belong to a family then - not one that was intact, at any rate. My grandfather was the only one alive that I maintained contact with, but his involvement wasn't an option. His health was rapidly failing him, and I knew that he wasn't up to travelling to New York. Though, even if he had been, I wouldn't have wanted him to come for me, to feel obligated to take care of me in any capacity, nor did I want to let him know what had happened to me yet. He didn't even know I was back from my deployment. I knew he would be worried, that he would pity me, and I wanted to put that conversation off for as long as possible. I couldn't reach out to him - I wasn't ready. But I did have one friend left to be counted upon to call, and I knew then more than ever that it was well past the time to do so._

 _It didn't matter to me how late it was, that anyone with any damn sense wouldn't be awake then if they didn't need to be. I just wanted to make the call before I lost my nerve, or convinced myself once again to act otherwise. Steeling myself, I had no choice but to ask for a nurse to help me get the phone off the table beside me, and while I resented that helplessness, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. And so, trying to ignore_ that _unpleasantness as she left me to make my call, I picked up the receiver stiffly, careful all the while to keep the right side of my body as immobile as possible._

 _There was no answer when I called Nadir at home - he and his wife often turned their phones off in the evenings, relying on Nadir's pager for his work but otherwise choosing to block out the rest of the world during those hours. I had often done the same thing when I wasn't deployed, but I couldn't quite find it in myself in those proceeding moments to forgive even that minor inconvenience. I almost gave up then, unreasonably frustrated and admittedly not thinking clearly - but in the next instance I realized that he could very likely have been on a shift that night. I hadn't been able to contact him for several weeks by then - even before I was injured - and it stood to reason that his schedule could have changed in that time. It was a long-shot, but it was all I had left by then. I had to fight to remember the phone number to the hospital in Chicago offhand, but soon enough I was confident that I had gotten it right and dialed._

" _Cook County Hospital, emergency room," the receptionist's voice rang over the line, sounding tired even as she spoke professionally._

" _Is Dr. Khan working tonight?" I asked, cringing as I barely recognized the sound of my own voice. Beyond straining so badly it during burn treatments, I barely spoke above a whisper since first regaining consciousness, and it showed unquestionably now. I absently wondered then if the hoarseness would ever fade, or if it would be another aspect of my life that had been taken away. I honestly didn't want to consider it further._

 _The receptionist interrupted my thoughts, "Please hold."_

 _I waited, nervous that my call would be for nothing and reminding myself that this time of night meant that Nadir was probably in the on-call room, if he was there at all; I hadn't been to his hospital for a while, but I knew their admit-desk was separated from the other various rooms in the department. It would take time to find him even if there were few patients or tasks to otherwise occupy him._

 _Finally, Nadir answered, "Hello?"_

Thank God...

" _Nadir, it's me."_

 _A pause, likely because he didn't immediately recognize my voice. Then, the sound of near-astonishment, "Erik? What's going on?"_

" _I'm in New York," I said simply, unsure of just how else to begin._

" _You're back?"_

" _Yes."_

" _But_ where _are you? I mean, why are you calling now?" he asked, another pause before continuing, "It's past three there - "_

" _\- I'm in the hospital."_

" _What happened?" he asked, his words now laced with concern._

 _And I told him everything then, as much as I could remember, as much information as he needed to know. I hated to do it, hated to even consider what his reaction would be, but just the same I forcefully reminded myself that it had to be done. I called him for a reason._

 _When I finished speaking, he only said determinedly, "Alright. I'm coming there."_

 _The conversation was brief and direct after that; I told him exactly where to find me, what to expect, and hung up the phone with the promise that he would be there by the morning. It was a simple enough exchange, but the gravity of it was not lost on me regardless. I couldn't necessarily say that I was looking forward to the encounter, nor that I was relieved in any way; but I was grateful for his coming presence just the same - at the end of the day, he was my best friend, and one that I knew I didn't always deserve. Yet he had maintained the friendship all those years even so, because that's just who he was; he saw the good in people, even me. And invariably throughout the time I'd known him, he came to me when I needed him._

 _Though I had to wonder if I would ever see the day that I would be able to stop begging him for help, would be able to get myself out of trouble under my own power. That night - as another surge of pain lanced through me as I attempted to awkwardly adjust myself, reminding me once again of exactly why I had just made that phone call to begin with - I had to admit that wasn't so sure if that day would ever arrive._

~~oOo~~

 **Present Day, Schaumburg IL** \- I am an alcoholic. Of the various titles I've donned throughout my life, that one was perhaps the most prevalent, even in its inconsistency - the most prevalent, and the worst.

It's not someone that I _ever_ wanted to be - nor do I want that part of me to continue thriving. I've gone years without touching a drop in the past, only to have those years of progress snuffed out and forgotten in as many moments. There was a part of it that was entirely my choice - but it lived alongside another part that was more unwilling, more unconscious, a reaction to misery and regret that I didn't ask for and couldn't undo so easily. But like a moth to a flame, there were times when I was helpless to stay away from that temporary release. I ran back to it like one in search of a safe haven, stubbornly telling myself that I could overcome it while knowing that idea was no more than an outright lie. But I couldn't do it anymore - I didn't _want_ to - and I knew that it had to stop. Nevermind what it does to my body, to my mind; nevermind the very real impacts it would have on my life and on my career. I just didn't want to continue on as a slave any longer, mindless and pathetic and lost - so different from the man I was in the light of day, so different from when I alone was in control. So much had changed that year, and I didn't want to forfeit any of it - I had more to lose now than ever before.

Once I got off the phone with Nadir, I immediately set out to making coffee for myself. Doing so, in my mind, was a simple enough task, a submissive last-ditch effort to sober myself up again, even as I knew doing so wouldn't be nearly as effective as I needed it to be. But I wanted to at least try, and if anything I needed something to keep myself busy while I waited for Nadir to arrive. Actually standing again and making my way the short distance around to the kitchen, however, was no small feat. The room was still spinning, my vision almost too blurred to function properly. By then, I could barely move with any semblance of coordination or purpose, as close to black-out drunk as I had been in a long time. I almost hadn't realized _how much_ alcohol was in my system, and that alone was a frightening thought - one that I didn't want to dwell on any longer than necessary. I simply tried to focus on what I was doing. Once my task was completed, rather than trying to force myself to stay oriented, instead I leaned heavily against the countertop, holding my head in my hands as I did so, desperate to settle down and attempting to prepare the words to explain myself all the while. I knew I would have to be honest in the coming conversation, and I wasn't looking forward to a single moment that was waiting.

I was grateful that Nadir at least didn't live far from me. Not even a half hour had passed before I saw the flash of headlights in the driveway beyond the front window, heard the sound of him walking up the steps, the noise muted by the barrier between us yet echoing irritatingly just the same - a stark reflection of my state of mind then. He didn't bother knocking when he got there, and I couldn't say that I was surprised, nor that I minded; having to move away from the countertop again wasn't appealing to me whatsoever. When he approached me in the kitchen, I didn't make any attempt to move, nor to speak immediately. I just stood there, eyes closed tightly and willing the world to slow down around me, feeling the weight of mingled pity and judgment in his stare - because I knew him, and I _knew_ he was staring at me. And I had the good sense then to know that his ire was completely justified. I wasn't exactly sobering up, but I noted that I was at least thinking more clearly by then, even if that clarity came sporadically. It was progress, at any rate.

"Is it still snowing?" I asked wearily.

"You're drunk," Nadir stated flatly, likely coming to that conclusion long before even leaving his own house. He made no attempt to mask his disappointment, and I had to admit that it hurt - when once he had reason to commend me for my steady improvement, now he only saw a major regression that he hadn't been expecting, and I was the only one to blame for that.

"Obviously," I muttered back, closing my eyes and hoping to hide my guilt. Because as bad as I felt, I knew that I had hurt him just as much, if not more so. I had hurt Christine before - my very nature had caused irreparable damage between us - and now Nadir had become a victim to that fallout, and all because of my own cowardly selfishness, my irresponsibility. It was painful to consider then just what I had done to them.

"Go to the living room," Nadir said, temporarily pulling me from my remorse.

But ignoring him, I pressed, " _Is_ it still snowing?"

"Erik - "

" - Can you just _answer_ me?" I demanded, suddenly agitated and absently realizing that I needed to settle down, "It was bothering me earlier," I continued more evenly, partially in truth, though admittedly also wanting to delay the inevitable. He was clearly upset with me, with the overall situation, and I wasn't so sure anymore that I was ready to face it yet.

He sighed and conceded, "It's letting up. Now go sit, please."

"I can sit right here."

"Living room's safer. If you pass out, I don't need you falling off the barstool."

My response was still more slurred than I had intended, "I _really_ don't want to move right now. Do you want coffee?"

"You made _coffee_ ," he said with mock-astonishment, "Your liver will be shocked," he added, his voice holding more outrage than humor.

"You're not cute, Nadir. That's an old joke," I snapped, attempting to open my eyes again as I did so and immediately regretting it. I swayed badly where I stood and pitched forward, leaning heavily against the counter again, though not necessarily by choice.

But he mistook my movements, asking quickly, "Are you going to be sick?"

" _No_ ," I snapped, grateful that I was long past _that_ phase of my alcoholism. The situation was humiliating enough without any sort of additional jackass behavior.

"Go sit down," he repeated, "I'll bring the coffee when it's ready."

I sighed, but chose not to argue anymore. Slowly, I made my way to the living room, stumbling more than a few times in the process. Rex trailed along behind me, nudging me every now and again and whining at points to recapture my attention, and only then did I think to acknowledge him. My distress exacerbated his own, had set him on edge in the face of his training and duties consistently going ignored. I hadn't given him an easy task that evening at all. With no small amount of renewed guilt, I patted him as I sat down, hoping to reassure him that the worst of the storm had passed. He seemed appeased enough, but didn't leave me even so.

"What happened?" Nadir asked when he came to me again, setting the coffee mug down on the end-table - wisely knowing that I couldn't have held onto it then on my own. He didn't move to sit down beside me as I had assumed he would; rather, he remained standing in front of me, seizing the role as an authority figure over me. He knew me well enough to rightly assume that I wouldn't cooperate easily. It didn't matter that I had _asked_ for help in the first place - I was too stubborn for my own good regardless of the circumstances, and I had to actively remember to resist the urge to fight him at every juncture. It wouldn't be easy to achieve. Therefore, in turn he had to be strategic in his approach now.

"I got drunk," was my apathetic reply.

"I can see that. I want to know _why_ you got drunk," he said.

"I could write you a fucking novel about why."

He sighed, changing his approach as he asked, "Is that why you called me?"

"Partly. I had a panic attack," I admitted, "It was bad...I don't know, I was afraid."

"Of what?"

I hesitated, "Of what I was thinking…"

A portion of his anger seemed to fade at my words, his serious expression replaced now with genuine concern, "You're depressed?"

"Yes."

"Alright," he nodded decisively, taking on an air of methodical professionalism, "Do you want to hurt yourself? Do you feel like harming yourself or others?"

"You're not my doctor," I scoffed bitterly.

"Answer me."

I sighed, knowing exactly why I had to take him seriously, "No. To both."

He nodded again, satisfied with my response, "How long has this been going on?"

"Which part?" I laughed humorlessly.

"All of it. Just...start from the beginning."

"The hospital got to be too much, or working in the ER, I think. And then everything that happened last month. I couldn't let go of any of it..." I gestured helplessly, unable to form the right words, "I don't know, the explanation sounded better in my head."

"You let your anxiety get to you," he supplied, seeming to attempt to understand.

I rolled my eyes, "Well, this isn't the first time."

Ignoring the sarcasm, he asked, "Fine, but again, _how long_ has this been going on?"

"A while...since September, maybe."

He threw his hands up in frustration, " _Damn it_ , Erik - "

" - I'm sorry, but - "

" - No, hold on. I _asked_ you," his voice raised just enough to make me feel shame, " _More than once_ I asked you if everything was alright."

"I know - "

"And you lied. Why?"

"That's...difficult to explain."

To my surprise, he didn't demand further clarification, but rather asked instead, "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I thought I was handling it."

"Well, clearly you weren't," he snapped, then sighed, taking a moment to compose himself before he continued, "Look, _I'm_ sorry. I should've seen it on my own. If you'd said something, I could've helped, especially at work. It's my job to take care of my staff, and you're my friend. I hate seeing you this way."

"You didn't do anything wrong. I did."

"Is working in the ER going to have this much of an effect on you?" he asked quietly, as if he dreaded my answer, "I mean, do we really need to start considering you looking into working somewhere else? Maybe somewhere you can strictly be in a surgical department..."

"I don't want that, though. There isn't a position like that in Chicago right now. And anyway, I like this city, Nadir," I met his eyes again, hoping he could believe what I was saying. In spite of everything that had happened, I was sincere in my words, "I don't want to leave."

Nadir shook his head, "You should have told me sooner."

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling as I spoke, "Right, I know. But that's why I called you tonight. I need help...It's getting worse."

"You need to go back to therapy," he said firmly, "It worked in New York, after - "

" - It worked for a _while_ ," I interrupted, not wanting to venture into the topic of New York or _anything_ that had happened while I was there, "Obviously, it didn't work well enough."

"Therapy isn't a cure, you know that. But _this_ ," he gestured to me, "This isn't working."

"I didn't know what else to do," I excused, even as I knew that doing so wasn't helping me whatsoever.

"You need therapy," he insisted, "And some kind of treatment program. Rehab, AA, anything. You need to get help."

I stiffened at the suggestion, warning alarms firing off in my mind the moment Nadir spoke those damning words. It wasn't as if I hadn't examined those options before - even if it was with a distant sense of denial in my consideration - nor was I surprised that he had offered the suggestion to begin with. But I obstinately fought it all the same then, knew without a doubt that I couldn't bring myself to follow through with either alternative to pull myself out of the hole I'd dug - because confinement and loss of agency ranked very highly among my fears, and I was sure that I wouldn't be able handle facing off with them in the course of any treatment. I was absolutely certain that I would be worse off if I followed his brand of advice, and I couldn't even begin to imagine just how much further I'd set myself back as a result.

So I responded adamantly, "No. I won't do that."

"Erik - "

" - I said _no_ ," I snapped, growing more agitated as I continued, "Absolutely no facilities."

"Alright, settle down. I'm in your corner, Erik. Remember that. But I need you to work with me."

"I'm _trying_ \- "

" - I realize that. But you need to relinquish some control now. This will kill you if you don't, one way or another," he forced me to meet his eyes again, "Do you understand that?"

I sighed, "Yes. But I can't go through a program, definitely nothing in-patient. I can't...I can't be locked up somewhere again, alright?"

"But therapy, at least?"

I hesitated, but finally relented on that front, "I'll go back to therapy."

"You can do it as an outpatient," he said reassuringly, "I know you're afraid of the alternative, but you're not there yet. I can help you find someone, but you _need_ to stick with it, alright? If you can't, then we have to consider something else."

"I said I'll do it," I sighed, a sound of resignation.

"What about AA?"

"No."

"I know that the drinking had a lot to do with your anxiety, but you can't ignore it. It's not going to go away immediately. And I can't in good conscience let you keep working if this is going to continue."

"I've _never_ been drunk at work," I said defensively, "Not _once_."

"Even so, alcoholism escalates, Erik. You've just always left or found another way to stop before it got to that point. But you need to find a permanent solution to this."

"Nadir - "

" - Alright, then we'll do this," he offered quickly, "You're going to stay with me and Sahra for a little while, at least until you have a bit of therapy behind you. You're staying at my house while you dry out, right where I can manage you," he said, then held up a hand to silence my protests as he continued, " _Yes_ , you are."

I frowned and tried again, "I don't think - "

" - It's either that, or I'll drag your ass to an AA meeting myself. Don't think I'm kidding. These are the only options you have left right now. Unless or until you concede."

I sighed again, but once more chose not to argue - I was certainly in no position to do so, and what he was offering was admittedly more palatable than the alternative.

"Alright," I said wearily, "I'll do this your way. Something has to work."

He only nodded, concluding the discussion and moving then to hand me the coffee before he sat beside me. In the course of our conversation, I'd completely forgotten that I had the drink at all, and a part of me didn't even want it anymore. It seemed incredibly unimportant, when I really applied it in context with the bigger picture. But I didn't consider that notion further then, couldn't find it in myself to do so - at that point, I was still having trouble reining in my thoughts even as a life-altering decision had been made on my behalf, entirely for my sake. I didn't feel relief at the prospects of what was to come, or even hope - in all honesty, I didn't know what to feel, but at the time none of it was positive. Once again, so much had changed for me. I didn't know what to do any of it in those moments, and simply opted to brush that idea aside as I had so many others. I didn't dare permit myself to feel optimistic - not yet. I believe that my shame was too overwhelming then to allow for anything else.

We sat in complete silence after that, lost somewhere in our own minds, our respective thoughts - mine now centering on only one on my part... _Pathetic_.

~~oOo~~

Christine

Back in November, after that first and seemingly endless week of silence, I couldn't stand to wait idly by and continue to do nothing. Once again, I attempted to reach out to Erik with the hope of mending what had been broken for us, to meet one another on more neutral footing - only to be ignored at every turn.

When I left messages at work or sent texts to his phone, they went consistently unanswered. When I called, I only heard the instructions given by an automated voicemail and never his own voice. I had no excuse to see him outside of the hospital without a direct invitation, but if I did happen to see him at work - on the few occasions thus far that the pediatric department sent me down to the emergency room - he pointedly made his way elsewhere, his features seemingly forced into indifference in my presence. It was painful, but even so I didn't think that this behavior was necessarily meant to be a slight against me - certainly not after everything that had happened before that last falling out - but rather a response to the stress and the overall unfairness of the situation, to everything it had caused. The strain it had put on our friendship ran deeper than I could have imagined. I had believed from the outset that he would feel betrayed by the consequences of Raoul's initial inquest, and I strongly sensed as time went on that I had been correct on that point. And moreover, I believed that Erik felt incredibly vulnerable within the situation; and as such, he desperately retreated away from me and every attempt I made at reconciliation solely for the sake of protecting himself, just as he had said.

And so the silence continued, seemingly with no end in sight - all to the point that I eventually gave up and stopped trying to contact him or make amends altogether. There truly was nothing more that I could do - certainly not on my own, and I knew that Erik had no intention of extending the olive branch of even simple communication, either. It was just...over.

Admittedly, I had spent far too many nights worrying over exactly what had happened that day, always finding ways in my mind to change it all that would never actually happen in reality. I still didn't want to believe that the friendship had ended - the friendship and all its potential. Because I could still feel Erik's arms around me, his lips against my own, could hear the words he said and the regret that painted every breath that carried them. But in the silence of my own home, in the privacy of my thoughts, once again I knew that I had no choice but to accept everything that had come to pass. This time, it was not a matter of giving Erik space, wasn't a matter of begging Raoul to take back what he had done - now it was simply a matter of trying to forget, trying to force away the what-ifs and the daydreams once and for all. They were simply no longer even a remote possibility. Erik didn't want the friendship now, not even in the most basic sense - even as we had both formerly wanted it and so much more, it was no longer feasible. Too much had happened in between all of the days we spent together, all the nights spent talking. He didn't need time to overcome the effects of Raoul's foolishness - he just needed separation entirely. I understood that - to a degree. But I hated it all the same, and when I was alone to ruminate on every last detail, I was able to give myself to the bitterness that the unfortunate circumstances had inspired.

By the time the first days of December arrived, I spoke to Raoul only when absolutely necessary, and with a civility that was clearly forced - and I hadn't spoken to Erik at all in weeks; though there was certainly more than one occasion during that time that I desperately _wanted_ to. But I had simply never been given the opportunity; there hadn't been a single word or gesture shared between us since that last conflict. I had seen him during only a handful of moments in the hospital, but knew by then that I had to maintain my distance, no matter how much it hurt to do so. And even as I resented that fact - resented everything that had brought it about - I honestly couldn't blame him for keeping away from me, or risk having to interact with Raoul again. Their dislike for each other was now almost palpable even in our separation, and as it stood I was still furious with Raoul for putting me in the position he had to begin with. Whether or not he had acted with good intentions or with any measure of sincerity didn't matter - the outwardly well-meaning gesture meant nothing. In the end, he hadn't helped me whatsoever, and the cost had ultimately been a friendship that had come to mean the world to me.

Yet even so, I couldn't bring myself to lie and convince myself that Erik hadn't hurt me, either - the memory of our conversations, of him kissing me only to run away again was painful to consider. And beyond that enduring feeling of hurt, I was just...confused. I knew he hadn't intended to do so, but he had given me conflicting signals during the entirety of our time together after our feelings for each other were laid bare. When I really stepped back and thought about it, about each nuanced moment that passed between us, I couldn't even begin to understand what to make of his behavior. The only thing that remained consistently clear to me was that there was something likely very significant that he wasn't telling me, and I was admittedly angered by that omission. He had claimed to trust me, yet his actions conveyed something entirely different. It was frustrating, and at times even infuriating. But still, there were also times that I worried for him just the same. During the few instances I'd seen him at the hospital, he didn't look well, and I wasn't so vain as to assume that what had happened between us - or even what had happened with Raoul and the other physicians - was the sole cause of his defeated appearance. Yet I couldn't even begin to guess at the exact reason, and that alone bothered me immensely, reminded me that I truly didn't know him very well in spite of feeling so deeply for him. I didn't know him, and I couldn't help him, and that helplessness only intensified my concern.

I cycled between hurt and confusion and fear in his regard more times than I cared to consider. But even in spite of it all, the problem remained that I still cared for him, that I couldn't stop thinking about him. And I had no idea how to go on from there - I had no choice but to move forward, yet it seemed so daunting to do so just the same.

~~oOo~~

Raoul and I had originally rented a small apartment of our own together off campus when we had first arrived in the city. We were still a couple then, and sincerely expected to continue on in that manner, at the very least for the duration of our schooling. But when our relationship eventually dissolved once and for all, I refused to live with him any longer - even just as roommates. There were too many hurt feelings between us by then, too many experiences we'd both just as soon forget - and moreover, I wanted a clean break from him, wanted to flex my independence in a way that I didn't believe I'd been able to before. He and I had been together for the majority of our adult lives, and I wanted nothing more than to be out on my own and to prove that I could do so without his help. And so, left with few other options and knowing when to be responsible and tap into my resources, I went straight to the university's student affairs office and was given my housing assignment that same day, being reminded all the while that I was lucky that the fall semester hadn't started yet. The apartment itself certainly wasn't spacious or glamorous - but it was covered by my tuition, kept safe by security officers and key-cards, and most importantly it was meant to house only one student - it was _mine_.

There was one cold morning - a weekend, the rare opportunity to spend time away from the hospital and focus on studying - that I was determined to stay indoors in my well-loved apartment, away from the snow and angry commuters. It was a treat to simply relax as I worked, at least as much as I could find it within myself to do so. And for the most part, I was successful in my attempt; I had been somewhat able to put my worries and sadness aside for a time and simply _be_ as I was productive, and I wanted to hold on to that relative contentment for as long as possible.

But at one point, sitting at my table by the window that led to the fire escape and lost in the pages of a medical journal, a slight movement somehow caught my attention. Looking more closely at the source of my distraction, I saw a cat staring back at me - a gray tortoiseshell named Willow that seemed to belong to everyone in the building, yet no one all at once. The tag on her collar informed us only of her name; it contained no address, no phone number for the neighborhood wanderer. But it was clear that she belonged to _someone_ \- she was well-fed, properly groomed, and very social. And in those moments, in spite of the disruption to my work, I was grateful for her intrusion. Opening the window just enough to allow her inside, I called out to her to coax her into the living room. Meowing loudly upon admittance, she made herself at home and looked up at me expectantly.

"Hey, pretty girl," I said softly, kneeling down to pet her soft fur, "I don't have anything for you today, Willow."

Ignorant of my words, the cat continued to wind her way around my legs as I sat down again and decided whether or not I wanted to continue my reading or give myself a break.

The sharp sound of someone knocking at my front door once again pulled me from my thoughts. Standing and trying not to disturb Willow as I did so, I made my way to the narrow entry hall, distantly curious about who was there. The only way to enter the building itself was by swiping a valid student ID card - knowing that, whenever someone arrived at my doorstep, I was sincerely expecting one of the other students to be on the other side, likely to ask for food or a textbook or notes. With this in mind, I hadn't even bothered to look through the peephole before I unclasped the security chain - I was certain that whomever was visiting was a friend or an acquaintance, and that the visit would be short-lived. But, much to my dismay, it was Raoul's eyes that I met when I opened the door. Still very much unwilling and unready to speak to him outside of work after everything that had happened, I attempted to slam the door in his face, a clear - though admittedly rude - sign of my feelings toward him then. But he caught the door before I had the chance to make my dramatic display. In a wordless act of defiance, he stared at me evenly - almost challengingly in his confidence - and for a brief instant I could almost see him for what he would someday become, a skilled physician in spite of too many painful past occurrences that had almost compelled his life to progress in an entirely different direction.

His reasons for undertaking a career path toward medicine were rather more complicated than mine. For him, becoming a doctor was less about helping others at the beginning, but instead somewhat of an act of rebellion - an abruptly instilled determination to stay as far away from his family's business dealings as possible, even as his family had always planned otherwise on his behalf. Abandoning his years of education in business management in favor of the medical arts was immediately considered a major and almost unforgivable slight against them - specifically, a point of shame for his father, whom insisted that Raoul was throwing away an opportunity for himself that was several generations in the making. But too much had happened within the family by then - more than enough to unsettle their dynamics - and Raoul simply wanted no part of that kind of life, had insisted that it was superficial and smothering and entirely irrelevant to what he truly wanted. Thus, had chosen a career that he considered more humane and compassionate by default - what he sincerely believed to be the exact opposite of his family's legacy.

But even though his inspiration for wanting to become a doctor was largely personal and had little to do with the realities of the career itself, I couldn't deny that he _did_ naturally possess the temperament that was sure to make him a great physician, and in spite of everything that had happened between us, I still sincerely respected him for that. Bearing that in mind as he stood at the threshold of my apartment that day, I couldn't honestly say that I saw an enemy before me in those moments, but rather the earnest young man that had captured my heart so long ago, even if he no longer possessed it now. And seeing that earnestness written so plainly on his features then, I almost found it within myself to forgive him - _almost_.

"Please, _please_ , just let me talk," he said without any other greeting, continuing to hold the door with the very correct assumption that I still wanted to slam it and continue ignoring him.

"Fine," I sighed after a moment's consideration, knowing that he'd only keep trying and wanting to get whatever conversation he had in mind over with, "Come in."

He walked past me once I stepped aside, unfamiliar with the layout of my home and looking back to me with a wordless question of where he should settle down. I nodded sharply toward the worn-out kitchen table and he began to make his way in that direction - but seemed to be distracted as he did so, and quickly trod on Willow's tail as she attempted to come closer to see what was happening. She yelped, hissed, and bolted away to hide under the couch.

"Willow," Raoul called after her, quickly following her to her hideout and crouching down to speak to her, "I'm sorry, baby. Will you come back out?" then to me, "I didn't see her."

"She'll be fine. She's just pissed off," I said, crossing my arms as I continued, "Like me."

He sighed and stood upright, "I _know_ you are, I wanted to talk to you about - "

" - About what exactly?" I snapped, "About what you did? Can you explain to me what the hell happened that day?" I asked, never intending to give him the chance to respond as I continued, "I don't know why you kept doing things like that. Every time Erik and I had been in the same room, you lost your fucking mind - "

" - It wasn't necessarily that bad - "

" - You did, though! And I want to know why, because this clearly isn't about professionalism anymore," I said, and at his guilty cringe I pressed, "I'm serious, answer me honestly. Was it about jealousy? Because I've had _a lot_ of time to think about your motives, and that one is starting to look pretty likely."

He paused, considering me before responding, "What if it was?"

I scoffed, ignoring his of his words to an extent, the underlying significance of them, "There's nothing _to_ be jealous of."

"You were kissing," he stated, an imperious, almost accusatory edge to his voice.

"Right, you know what? We were," I admitted, because there really was no point in denying it anymore. As poorly as he conveyed it, Raoul was absolutely justified in his assumption, and although I was angry with him then, it didn't change the fact that he had been my friend and confidant for most of my life - he deserved my honesty, at the very least.

"Were you together?" he pressed, "Dating, or - "

" - No, actually. And that's never going to happen now, thanks."

" _That_ isn't fair," he said defensively, "It's not just because of me, and you know it."

"You played a pretty big part in it, Raoul," I snapped again, absently knowing all the while that I really _wasn't_ being fair. I was lashing out because I felt affronted, but my approach was all wrong - it would get us nowhere. He had his part in the situation - but it went far beyond him, and I would do well to remember that fact. And so, mindful to maintain a calmer mindset as the conversation continued, I forced myself to settle down, to remain civil in what was already proving to be an uncomfortable encounter.

Ignorant of my thoughts, Raoul hesitated before he spoke again, "I _am_ sorry, Christine. At least for what I did to Dr. Riley. I know it caused problems for him, and between the both of you. That's not...what I wanted to happen."

"What _did_ you want to happen?" I asked seriously, once again noting an unspoken weight behind his words, then considered my own before venturing, "Something between you and I?"

"I had thought about it," he replied immediately, with an even confidence that wasn't lost upon me then, "But that isn't why I did any of it. Not entirely. I just...I wanted to make sure he wouldn't take advantage of you, or hurt you," he said, then added at my disbelieving glance, "That _really was_ my motivation, for the most part."

Choosing to ignore that for the moment, I asked instead, "Why do you still think that you and I have a chance anymore?"

"Because it never should have ended between us in the first place," he said, his eyes solemn with what he believed to be the truth, "We could've stayed together, been a family - "

" - _Don't_ ," I snapped, halting his words forcefully with my unwillingness to go down that path with him again. We'd been there before, and for far too long - I couldn't stand the pain those memories inspired in me. But reminding myself once again to keep my composure, that we needed to resolve this conflict somehow, I continued, "It didn't work out that way for us. I honestly don't think it _ever_ would have worked out."

"Christine - "

" - And you have to let go of this idea for us. Because whether or not what you did to Erik had anything to do with jealousy, you don't get to determine what I do with my life regardless. Your decisions affected me, one way or another," I said, then added, "They're still affecting me."

"He wouldn't have been good for you," Raoul insisted.

"You don't know that. You don't know _him_. But you're letting those rumors skew your perspective of him."

"Do you love him?" he asked abruptly, ignoring my statement entirely.

"I don't know," I said evenly, then shrugged, "It doesn't matter."

He sighed, "I think it does."

"No, it doesn't. Really, it doesn't now."

He looked at me closely for a moment, as if seeing me for the first time, before saying nearly to himself, "This really has hurt you…"

"Of course it has. He was my _friend_ , Raoul. But he isn't anymore, so whether or not I love him is irrelevant now. You should have stayed out of this...I wish you had."

And I almost cried then, at the gravity of my words, of that qualifier that I had no choice but to use now. _Was_...Erik _was_ my friend - that was the problem that remained, with no hope for resolution. He had been such a significant figure in my life for months during which _so much_ had happened between us; he had been someone I was so unbelievably fond of, an important figure in my life, and now he never would be again. If Raoul took nothing else from our conversation that day, I at least needed him to understand that. His actions had hurt me, his reasons either entirely unfounded or too convoluted to be solved with any sense of fulfillment or anyone involved, and I wasn't sure if I could forgive him for his senselessness this time. Thus, we faced an immovable impasse - there was no forgiveness to be found, no understanding, nothing left to us anymore but our respective anger and regret. Our own friendship had been damaged now, once again after far too many times before - and as with Erik, I didn't know how to repair that tentative bond with Raoul, either.

Still standing in the middle of my living room, we could only stare at one another in absolute silence for a short amount of time, until the moment abruptly arrived when Raoul finally muttered an apology and excused himself. When the door closed behind him, I sat down where I stood and held my head in my hands, overwhelmed and distressed by everything that had happened to me - to all of us. And only then could I bring myself to cry - truly distraught that nothing had been resolved, once again I had no idea how to move forward with that burden.


	12. The Heart Won't Lie, Part 1

**Author's Note:** _I liiiiiiiiiiiive! I'm so sorry, my darlings - it's been far too long. I won't go into details to explain this extended absence, but suffice it to say that life happens, and sometimes people suck. But fuck those sucky people, I'm back! And I want to take a moment to say my sincerest thanks to everyone that's stuck around and sent their love and support all this time. Words cannot say how much that means to me, y'all are simply amazing! :'D Anywhoodles, here's a two-parter for your enjoyment. Please let me know how it turned out - for personal reasons, the majority of this and a few other chapters had to be reworked, and essentially rewritten entirely. So, fuck my life, right? But anyway, as such, I just want to make sure it all turned out alright. This plot still follows my original outline, so no curveballs for y'all here, just some retooling. Feedback is sincerely appreciated! Finally, the title of this chapter is based on the Reba McEntire and Vince Gill duet of the same name. Aaaaand that's everything. Again, remember to review, and most importantly: enjoy!_

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Chapter 9 - The Heart Won't Lie, Part 1

Erik

After a brief phone call to inform his wife of all that had happened, Nadir invited himself to stay with me that night, likely for fear that I would bolt if he didn't - and while I sincerely had no intention of doing so, he knew from past experiences with me as well as I did that it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility. At any rate, I could appreciate the gesture simply for the fact that I hadn't wanted to be alone, not then. I felt more than a little overwhelmed when it was all said and done, and for a brief time I just wanted some of that burden taken from me.

Unsurprisingly, I woke up hungover and absolutely miserable the next morning, reminded jarringly of that fact as I heard Nadir in the kitchen, the sounds ricocheting through my brain. It said a great deal about my state of mind that my first instinct wasn't to yell at him for the noise - rather, I had accepted that sensory assault as a well-earned punishment on my part, only moments later allowing him to remind me of the night before as he forced me to sit upright and passed me a cup of coffee. It balanced unsteadily in my hands, but I kept my hold on it; I needed a solid anchor to reality.

There wasn't much conversation beyond that, beyond his succinct direction for me to pack what I needed for the duration of my stay within his household. He wasn't bothering to hide his continued disappointment in me, even as he had been at least somewhat sympathetic to the reasons behind my setback before; but I wasn't asking him to act otherwise, either. Nor did I intend to. He and I wouldn't have been in this situation together at all had I chosen to carry myself differently - more responsibly - and I knew that our friendship deserved better than that. Whatever he chose to say in response, I would either accept or let pass. I had woken up to a less-than coherent mindset, but I remembered _everything_ from the previous evening, and though I was hesitant, I was equally determined to meet my side of the agreement. The exact details would be hashed out later - to begin with, it was simply enough for me to pack and prepare to leave my home indefinitely. We had both agreed that my returning for any reason wouldn't be wise for the time being - my separation from the familiar could mean the difference between success and failure, especially at this crucial juncture.

The morning itself was a blur of activity, unremarkable even in its significance. It felt as if I was stepping outside of myself and my life - and for all intents and purposes, I was. My mind continued to reel with that knowledge, with that understanding. But outwardly, my actions spoke of a forced nonchalance that I was determined to maintain. Bravado could only help me at that point, I was sure. And so, I moved mechanically, purposefully, hoping at every turn that doing so would help to further steel my resolve. I truly had no intention of changing my mind - but that didn't mean I wasn't seriously lacking confidence, made that much more nervous by the daunting prospects of the unknown I was facing. It was rare that I reached out for help, and any time I had been able to bring myself to do so before had been the direct result of disasters or very, _very_ near-misses. This time around, I no longer had the option to come that close to the edge - nor did I want it.

Because while what I was facing was a staggering display of how far I had let myself fall, it was also a necessary step in moving on past the worst of myself. I didn't want to give up this time, and I didn't want to fail again. In spite of my shameful inebriation, I remembered _that_ aspect of the previous evening's conversation as clearly as I remembered my doubt and humiliation - and I knew that I had no choice but to follow through with the decision. In my mind, I just needed the structure of another person's rationality, the assurance of having someone I trusted to be accountable to. Because _clearly_ I couldn't trust myself with the task of remaining responsible, or even close to sane. Not yet, at any rate.

But even so, having to grasp at recovery once again wasn't an appealing idea - having to do so alongside my friend was even less so. Even in my readiness and cooperation, I dreaded it all the while - Nadir had seen me in far worse states before, but I knew this would be an uncomfortable experience just the same. That was inevitable by nature, nevermind every other factor at play. Moreover, removing the element of alcohol didn't automatically solve the rest of my problems - they weren't so easy to banish from my mind, nor did I have any idea of how to do so. Taking the whiskey out of my hands was actually _simple_ in light of the grander picture. Keeping what made me want it in the first place at bay was another matter entirely. As much as I hated it, Nadir was absolutely correct in his assertion that I needed therapy; I wasn't so irrational as to deny that. The problem remained that I was still too unwilling to go down that path again. I _would_ go along with it, but I couldn't quite bring myself to actually _trust_ it then. Therapy is a burden when saddled with an indifferent therapist, and arduous work when paired with a competent one. Either way, I wanted nothing to do with it, namely with having to work within my own mind. I had no business being there, and quite frankly, I wasn't sure if I could handle any of it. But it had to be done whether I liked it or not - whether I felt prepared for the effort - and I would do well to remember that.

At that point, I was simply waiting for Nadir to finish putting Rex into his harness so that we could leave, trying to stay calm in the face of everything I was dwelling on. I thought about it all as I brushed my hand over the keys of the piano, knowing I wouldn't be using it for a seemingly-endless amount of time. That notion hurt, and I didn't want to consider it longer than necessary. I knew that doing so wouldn't help me now. Instead, I simply appreciated the object for what it was, attempted to remember that I would find its practice far more fulfilling in time. I stood staring at the shining instrument, my fingers idly finding chords at random before I finally sat down resolutely and began playing. A warm-up at first, it wasn't long before a somewhat coherent melody was produced. I can't remember what song I played then, nor for how long; and that didn't matter, really. I had only wanted to feel some piece of me restored in the gesture, to be reminded that there was something good left buried in the chaos.

And then, without initially realizing what I was doing, I was suddenly aware that I had played the opening notes of the song that Christine and I had danced to together, _She Will Be Loved_ echoing in my memories as images of that day flooded before my mind's eye. I hadn't been expecting any of it - but I didn't fight it in the end, either. I just played on, thinking of her as the song slowly unfolded...The melody was simple enough to recall from the handful of times I'd heard it, even as I had been trying to avoid the song altogether, all the memories it grew to inspire. That day was long since passed, and so much of what happened lay in ruin between then and now. I had wanted more of her then, had wanted to give her something worthwhile of myself, and I hadn't wanted to let her go. But when she wasn't in my arms any longer, I knew that would never happen, any of it. And I was left hollow with that knowledge. I wanted to scream at that scathing truth, so much so that I hit more than one sour note before settling down again.

The regret made me sick. What _else_ could I lose to my vices, to _myself_? I didn't' have much more left to give. Christine meant more to me than I could describe, and now I didn't even have her friendship, and the fault was entirely my own. I missed her more in those moments than I thought was possible, an unexpected loneliness for her company overtaking any other thoughts. I had stubbornly avoided thinking about her for weeks by then, though failing more often than not. Each time she called or otherwise attempted to seek me out was like a knife in my heart, an enduring reminder of our distance - a separation that _I_ and I alone had set into motion. It was a painful, pathetic existence, but I was equally relentless in turn, convincing myself that the silence was for her good as much as my own.

But still, I wanted to call her that morning, to hear her voice. I wanted to tell her _I'm better now, everything will be alright_ , and know that was the truth _._ Yet I knew it would never be that easy to repair our severed bond - that is what ultimately stayed my hand. I had finally come to the conclusion that I was badly in need of help, of drastic change - but a decision didn't mean results, and it wouldn't guarantee success on my part. I had to focus on that and only that, because anything less put far too much at stake, far more than I was willing to forfeit anymore. But...I missed her in spite of it all, cared so deeply for her - and that fact would never change.

Nadir's voice pulled me from my thoughts, "What're you playing?"

"It doesn't matter," I said distantly, abruptly ending the song and forcing myself away from the piano. I added offhandedly as I approached him, "I'll take Rex."

He held the leash a bit tighter, "It's fine, I'll handle him."

"I already agreed to go with you, Nadir. You don't have to keep my dog hostage to make me keep my end of the deal."

"I'm not taking any chances," he said, though his tone was lighter than his words suggested, his voice losing some of the disappointment he had been harboring. That in itself was an immense relief to me.

Even so, I rolled my eyes at his attempt at humor, but chose not to argue. Rather, I just followed him to the garage, and only then did he surrender my dog back to my possession. I got into my car with the intention of following Nadir in his, mentally preparing myself for things to come and wondering, not for the first time, if I could go through it after all. But I forced _that_ doubt away - one of far too many - certain that I would continue to have to do so at every juncture until I could sincerely prove to myself that it was _only_ doubt, and nothing more. At the very least, I was willing to tackle the alcoholism. That was a start, a first step, and it had to mean something; I could only hope that doing so might allow everything else to fall into place in time.

 _Something has to work._

~~oOo~~

I never planned to live in Chicago, had never expected it at all - like so many other aspects of my life, I hadn't seen that destination coming. Sometimes it was still difficult for me to believe that I'd actually been here nearly a year and a half - there were moments when it seemed that no time had passed by at all since that first look into the city, and yet just the same my settling here had stretched on for an eternity in the span of my life. But for better or worse, I _was_ here, as established as I could hope to be and determined to stay - and that perhaps was the strangest aspect of being here at all. It was an unfamiliar and sometimes even unsettling sensation, that feeling of determined permanence, and it was one that I was sure I'd never get used to. Before I came here - before anything happened that _required_ me to move here - it had never occurred to me that I'd find somewhere that would feel like home, somewhere I would sincerely fight to stay indefinitely. For so long, it seemed that I was always running, always hiding - hiding in every corner of the world from myself and from the whole of humanity all at once. Every day was a forfeited attempt to rein in my turbulent thoughts in the wake of my newly-diagnosed PTSD, nevermind the mounting bitterness and resignation its origins inspired.

And as the symptoms of the PTSD worsened and went almost entirely without treatment - aside from what had been required upon its discovery - my alcohol consumption reached frightening levels, even to me. But even so, I hadn't let it affect my work in the past, strictly ensuring that I kept my more unsavory activities limited to my off-hours as I learned how to mask the worst of the signs of alcoholism. That alone allowed me to keep it hidden for so long - for _too_ long. Though, a part of me wondered if that slight semblance of control only occurred simply because I always ran away when it began to escalate again. I ran, I hid, I started over...and still it overtook me, it always escalated - all to ultimately end up in Chicago when I finally got desperate enough to take matters into my own hands. Nadir had no choice but to intervene then, had to drag me kicking and screaming from New York to the city in which he had eventually settled with his own wife and son. And it probably _was_ for the best, if I were to consider the circumstances objectively, even if it was not what I envisioned my life becoming.

I was more determined than ever to remain where I was. I had known contentment here, even happiness, albeit brief and elusive - and I wanted to bring that part of my life back once and for all. The process of doing so, however, was just as difficult I had expected it would be.

Settling in with Nadir and his family was initially awkward, if not outright uncomfortable, but altogether not impossible. While I prefered to spend my time alone, I had lived with them briefly upon first coming to Chicago, and as such the first waves of awkwardness gave way to that old routine quickly enough. My pride had suffered some in the arrangement - in the helplessness and displacement I couldn't yet relinquish - but it had been through worse. I had to remind myself of that fact more than once in the days that followed.

It was finding a reliable therapist that gave me the most trouble, and therefore became a significant source of stress from the outset. That, on top of abruptly removing alcohol from my routine - namely, as a coping mechanism - ensured that I had more than enough inconvenient realities to deal with; most therapists, as it turned out, had substantial waitlists for appointments, and it appeared at first glance that I wouldn't be finding professional help any time soon - certainly not as immediately as I needed it. I _should_ have known from the start that this would be the case, and I was more than a little discouraged by it all. I had been on the phone for hours on my first day away from home before I could bring myself to admit that I wasn't making any headway. Even recruiting Nadir for help didn't get me far, and it got to the point that we both had to use our professions in my favor, emphasising the word _doctor_ in my title as added incentive to whomever happened to pick up the phone at the other end of the line. I absolutely hated to use my name that way, but by then I had little other choice. They could make room for a doctor in need of counseling, and I couldn't deny that I fit that definition.

From there, I thought that part was over-with. However, much to my dismay, my first appointment proved to be a complete waste of time, another setback that I wasn't so sure I could handle then. It was partially my fault - I wasn't as receptive to the process as I had been before, and that didn't leave me much margin for error. But I had agreed to the sessions, had spent too much time ensuring an appointment in the same week it was made, and it was better than nothing. I needed that outlet, needed to speak to someone without bias that would know what to do with the information I offered. And so I sat, and I talked when I absolutely had to, and she listened as far as she was politely required to.

And nothing else.

She had essentially asked me to complain for forty-five minutes with little input from her, and no direction regarding what to actually do with the little information I had surrendered. As a result, I spent most of that time in near-silence, and quickly determined to cease contact. I would _not_ be going back. When I thought about it later, I could concede that she was probably less of a specialist than a confessional of sorts, someone to unleash rants to without fear of repercussions. But that wasn't what I needed. Talk therapy works exceedingly well for some people - I, however, was not one of those people. I needed structure, not a sounding board.

But I had to keep trying, and soon enough I was on the phone again, calling office after office until another mental health professional could work me into their schedule. And that visit was no better than the first. Although I couldn't describe exactly why - only that my instincts told me that I wouldn't benefit from this therapist's methods any more than I would have the last. They just wanted me to talk, but I wanted a plan, something more methodical and concrete than aired grievances. At the very least, I had to handle once again the task of finding a reliable source of assistance. On the surface, that was a simple enough matter; and at first, I felt I could manage that much, sincerely believed so. But not having a stable foundation was more upsetting than I had initially realized, and it was becoming increasingly more tempting to cry uncle altogether and run. And that scared me more than anything. I didn't want to give up, but I was making little to no headway, and I had no idea how to move forward. The anxiety I felt as a result was very nearly beyond control, and there was an instant during which I believed that it had all been for nothing. I wanted to give up then and there.

But...I still had to inform Nadir that I had walked out of another session, barely a week into my stay with him. For whatever reason, doing so seemed paramount, and I didn't fight that determination - I wasn't in any state of mind to do so. Even so, it wasn't a discussion I was looking forward to.

"You're back early," he said when I walked into his kitchen, foregoing any other greeting to me beyond a critical glance in my direction.

"I _left_ early," I responded, sitting next to him at the table and attempting to maintain a level head for the coming conversation. I would have to justify my reasons for abandoning the doctors I had seen so far, and although that was a relatively small number, it still didn't bode well for me. I would have to state my case with a calmness that I didn't necessarily feel. Any resolve I might have even _imagined_ building up on the drive back to his neighborhood was fleeting at best to begin with, and had all but vanished when I needed it the most. In those moments, I only felt the anxiety threatening _again_ , and I bit it back forcefully.

"You left early?" he repeated, "Why?"

"This won't work. It _isn't_ working," I said, regretting my choice of words immediately, the panicked edge they held. I had wanted to speak _far_ more clearly than that.

He sighed, asking sympathetically, albeit wearily, "What happened?"

"It's what didn't happen," I said, wanting to get up again and pace, but believing that remaining more still was wiser in those moments, "I can't stand sitting in a tiny-ass room complaining while those people do crossword puzzles, or whatever the fuck."

"That's not what - "

" - I know. But that's what it feels like."

"Are you sure you're not just overreacting?" he asked evenly, "You've had a hard time for a while now, and you haven't had that many sessions," he reasoned. Because in his mind, the continuity of making and keeping appointments, of speaking plainly to a professional made sense - it ensured results. And I knew he was well-meaning in his response; but for me, it wasn't enough. I had to make him understand that, and I was growing more agitated by the task.

Even so, I continued, "I've been doing this long enough to know what works for me."

He sighed again, "So what now."

I hesitated, "I...want to give up. I think I already have."

"You _know_ can't do that. Try going again."

"Therapy ain't that easy, Nadir," I said with a humorless laugh.

"I didn't say it was."

I scoffed, "I think you implied it."

He rolled his eyes, "Look, I want to help you, but I'm not going to coddle you - "

" - I don't want to be _fucking_ coddled," I nearly yelled.

"Watch it," he said, his tone clipped as he gestured for me to lower my voice, "Zach's in the other room."

I sighed, forced my composure to return as I said, "I want something to work, but - "

" - Then _find_ someone and do just that," he responded, clearly more ill-tempered than I think he meant to be.

"I'm _trying_."

"Which is it? You just said you wanted to stop this. So _are_ you trying anymore? Or are you just going to carry on as you were and let yourself die?" he challenged. And if I were thinking clearly, I would have known to back off then. I would have known that my unwillingness to fight brought back painful memories for us both, and we needed to table that conversation until we had both taken a break.

But I _wasn't_ thinking clearly.

"If you don't believe me," I returned, "then I can just go home."

He shook his head, "I don't want that. I - "

" - I know, you don't trust me on my own," I snapped, finally losing my temper. What he said - what I assumed he was saying - had struck a nerve, more so than I had realized. That perceived betrayal, paired with the absolute tension of the words passed between us, stole the last of my patience, and I let anxiety overtake me as I continued, "I _know_ that! Don't you think this bothers me, too? I know what will happen to me if I don't fix this. It scares the hell out of me - "

" - Erik - "

" - And I don't need to be reminded that you don't even trust me to make myself better, alright?" I continued, heedless of his repeated attempts to recapture my attention, "It's bad enough that I can barely trust myself...I _hate_ that you don't either."

He sighed, a sound that fell somewhere between regret and frustration, "I was going to say that I'm worried about you. That's all."

"So am I," was my bitter response. Because I couldn't find any other words then, even as I knew I should have.

Neither of us chose to speak after that, although it wasn't long before I realized that a time of silence was probably for the best. We had fought plenty of times before that day, like brothers forced to spend far too much time together. Nothing more would come of us attempting to make amends before the other was ready. And so, instead I simply went to the guest room, my borrowed refuge, needing very badly to just collect my thoughts, to settle down and try to keep myself from doing something incredibly stupid.

Because it was too tempting in moments like that to just say _Fuck it all_ and relinquish control of myself. My alcoholism ran deep - I most assuredly didn't need to be told that much by that point in my life - and it fed off of my anxiety like a predator. I felt weak as a result; conquering an addiction feels like a relentless pull toward something you can never reach, yet even knowing that, the desire to do so never goes away - certainly not in the beginning. And that's where I was then, just days removed from the worst of it. Days that felt endless, both beginning and end a lifetime away. I wanted to drink, plain and simple - I wanted to drink and sleep and forget _everything_. But more than anything, I just wanted it all to be over, wanted to fast forward past the worst of myself and just _live_. I was so worn by the alternative, exhausted from the constant fight. Yet the problem remained that I didn't quite know _how_ to find the peace I needed. It was unpleasant to consider, but I knew that I had never gotten the hang of living, of _functioning_ , existing in a deadlock somewhere between madness and reason. And worse, I remained alone in that impasse when that first attempt at therapy proved to be an utter failure.

But I didn't _want_ that to be the end; if I did nothing else then, I at least was determined to learn from that mistake.

To my relief, I was able to relay that much to Nadir that night when he found me alone outside smoking. By then, we had wordlessly agreed to a truce, but even so our interaction was somewhat limited, broken down only to Nadir pointedly setting a notecard on the table beside me. I looked at it, not recognizing the phone number written down and looking up to him for further explanation. As it turned out, instead of attempting to find a therapist one office at a time, Nadir recalled another resource that he believed could help me.

"Call that office first thing tomorrow," he said, then smiled apologetically, "I feel awful that I didn't remember this guy sooner."

~~oOo~~

I agreed to the idea of seeing the social worker immediately, if not tentatively. I wasn't altogether trusting of the mental heathcare system available to me then, and I was in no way willing to find that trust so readily, either. To say I was disillusioned by the system at large would be an understatement. Still, it was better than nothing, and essentially my last resort. The worst that could happen would be that I would leave an appointment early again, disappointed and frustrated and left to start over one more time. _Or_ , it could go the other way - I really had nothing to lose. So I called the number that Nadir gave me, made an appointment by stressing - if not melodramatically so for my purposes - my need to see someone as soon as possible. And not two or so days later, I met with a social worker, Jonah Kim. I couldn't tell from the start whether or not I necessarily liked him, but I did feel more at ease there than I had elsewhere. I forced myself to count that fact alone as a good sign rather than a fluke.

That first meeting, he welcomed me warmly - as if I was an old friend - and led me to his office, a crackerbox at the end of the hallway. Just as he sat me down, he seemed to remember something and excused himself for a moment, leaving me to dwell on this situation. _Just call me Joe,_ he'd said after the expected introductions, and I stubbornly determined that I most certainly would _not_. Because he wasn't my friend, in spite of his behavior. It was cynical, but I was more inclined then to believe that he was well-trained in his bedside manner, and nothing more. I didn't want to burn any more bridges, but I had reservations about engaging myself more than was absolutely required, any semblance of optimism a distant memory by then. That perspective was problematic, I knew. Problematic, and stupid as hell. I was actively sabotaging myself, poisoning the well, and I needed to stop. _Quit being a jackass_ , I chided myself. But I didn't have time to think on that longer. The door opened again, and Jonah - Joe, rather - sat across from me, too comfortable in the face of my own uneasiness.

"Sorry about that," he began, "Are you ready to start?"

"Sure," I said hesitantly, leaning back and folding my arms over my chest.

"I hate to have to ask obvious questions, but I need to get a better sense of you. Is that alright?" he asked, and at my affirmative nod, he continued, almost conversationally in spite of our respective roles in the situation, "Can you tell me why you decided to come here?"

I shrugged, unable to articulate a response better than near-sarcasm, "I'm a drunk, and I'm depressed," I said, waving dismissively in his direction, "So, work your magic."

" _I_ don't do the work," he said, though his tone remained light, "I'm just here to facilitate."

"Right..."

"You're depressed, and I know that's difficult. But I do have to ask, do you believe you're at risk of harming yourself or others?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, "No."

His answering smile was almost sympathetic, "I'm glad to hear that. I know people get tired of us asking, but it's necessary. We'll move on, don't worry. So you're…" he looked down at a clipboard - my chart, apparently, "You're a surgeon over at County?"

"Yes."

"How long have you been there?"

"A year or so," I said, almost feeling guilty for my succinct responses. He _wasn't_ the enemy, and he was carrying the session far more competently than others had.

"And may I ask..." he began, gesturing to the surgical mask on my face, the scarring still visible around my right eye, "What happened there?"

I shifted uncomfortably, imperceptibly tightening my arms around myself, "I was in the Army. During a deployment...you can guess the rest."

"I understand. I imagine that experience factors into your mental health concerns," he said, and nodded as if in response to himself, marking something down in the chart in front of him, on a piece of notebook paper for the file. So many therapists used that kind of paper, I realized absently, and it was almost absurd to make that connection. A part of me wanted to read his observation, if an observation was in fact what he had written. But a stronger part of me decided I was better off not knowing. That wasn't how this worked. And anyway, so far he seemed to be a better fit for me than anyone I had met with previously, and I didn't want to ruin that dynamic by making myself anxious or unwilling to continue.

So I asked instead, "Is that all?"

"I just need a little more of your history. Then we can work out a plan for you."

I sighed, but saw no reason to fight the request. It was, after all, what I was there for to begin with. And so I spoke openly...but only about more recent concerns, everything from September until that moment. I told him about the PTSD, about therapy I had undergone years before. I told him in the most basic terms what had triggered the drinking this time around. And that was all. I wouldn't tell him anything else about my life, absolutely nothing before Chicago, at the very least - rather, I conveniently left out the majority of significant events up to and throughout adulthood, just barely skimming over the Army, outright ignoring New York; anything I wasn't willing to relinquish was all but nonexistent. And there was plenty of _that_ category - but I prefered brevity my answers offered, and I didn't necessarily think it was all relevant.

"This is a good start, Erik," he said when I finished speaking, "From now on, I want to have you here a couple of times a week. And then I think we'll try cognitive therapy. Do you know anything about it?"

I shrugged again, "I've only heard of it. It really has nothing to do with my field."

He smiled, "No, I guess it wouldn't. Simply put, it's a means of controlling your anxiety. You'll learn how to recognize symptoms and manage them with behavioral exercises. You're...more or less modifying your reactions to the world around you."

I raised an eyebrow at that, skeptical of the legitimacy he seemed to be trying to sell, "Like self-soothing?"

"Among other tools, yes. Trust me, it's more effective than it sounds. I think you'll benefit from it. Based on what you've told me, you have more going on than you can handle, and what you're doing now to manage clearly isn't working. And it's not what you want. So you have to learn _healthy_ coping mechanisms, and how to be accountable for your actions, especially when we tackle the drinking."

I scoffed, " _Accountability_ is not really an issue for me."

"Accountability is not the same thing as blame," he responded sternly, yet still never abandoned his easy manner, "You're blaming yourself, and you need to learn the difference between responsibility and self-loathing. I don't need to tell you which one is destructive."

"Right..."

"We'll talk about it more later this week. Right now, we'll make that follow-up appointment, and I'd like to refer you to the psychiatrist on staff here."

"Why?" I asked warily, now far more nervous than I had been until that point. Psychiatry connotated the strictly medicinal aspect of mental health, and I didn't like the implications.

"Starting you on some meds will - "

" - No...I don't want to be medicated. I'm scheduled to go back to work next week, I can't have the side effects of - "

"- You won't," he assured quickly. I wanted to continue arguing then, but chose not to in the same instant, reminding myself that I had determined to cooperate as he explained, "But an antidepressant will do you some good. Level out your symptoms so we can get at the underlying issues here. Your mind needs a chance to settle down."

I sighed, but ultimately relented - hoping all the while that I wasn't making a substantial mistake in doing so.

We said our goodbyes then; social niceties were not lost on this man, I noted as he handed me my referral slip and saw me out to the lobby. He wasn't terrible; I could admit that much, and thus felt a bit more confident in the arrangement as a whole. The psychiatrist saw me a short time later, gave me a prescription after the necessary history was reviewed, assured just as the social worker had been that I wasn't immediately at risk for harming myself. That encounter was brief, but I wasn't slighted by that at all. Rather, it was a relief to have it over.

I filled the prescription, vaguely recognizing the name of the medication - it wasn't one I had been given before, though it was likely that I had seen it in passing at the ER. Regardless, I didn't know enough about it offhand to determine how it might affect me, even in spite of what I had just been told about it. The psychiatrist had gone over all the details of use and dosage with me in the office, but I was still wary. If I wanted to lose my mind, my first choice was always alcohol - pills have never appealed to me. Although logically, I knew that my consciousness wouldn't be affected or altered in the way I feared; I had been assured that the medication I had now would not incapacitate me in any way, but I didn't necessarily take that assurance at face-value. Rather, I showed the bottle to Nadir as soon as I returned to his house, giving bare details of the appointment as he read the label. He would be more familiar with the drug than I was - his chosen specialty almost guaranteed that. I didn't go to him for personal medical council often as a rule, but I needed his judgement then before I could feel comfortable starting the regimen.

"It's just an antidepressant," he said, almost annoyedly, as if what he had just said should have been obvious from the start.

"I know _that_."

He laughed, seeming to ignore me as he continued to read, "Well, you sure as hell can't drink while you're on this."

" _Can't_ , or shouldn't?" I asked sarcastically, "What kind of party are we talking about here?"

"Not a great one for you. Do you want to have a seizure?"

"Point taken."

"Anyway," he said, "If you already knew what this was for, then why are you asking me about it?"

"Will I be able to function on this? Can I still work, or - "

" - Yes, of course," he shrugged, "You'll be fine. That's probably why they chose this one, it's pretty mild. But I'm sure the psychiatrist explained that to you."

I nodded, "And the social worker..."

"Then why ask me?" he repeated.

"I trust you more than I trust them," I admitted.

"You _need_ to trust them, though."

"Right," I sighed, though I felt marginally better by the familiar reassurance, "I'm working on that."

~~oOo~~

Each subsequent visit was easier, even if only marginally so. More often than not, I was that much more willing to talk as openly as I would allow myself, willing to let my tension ease for the duration of my meetings with Jonah Kim. I still wouldn't tell him everything - of that I was absolutely determined - but I felt that what I had shared was enough for my purposes. At any rate, I felt calmer even by the second session, and each one to follow. From there and onward, the process was slow. Kim was qualified to teach cognitive behavioral therapy, but even in his somewhat limited capacity as a social worker, he took on the role of both facilitator and counselor. As such, I believe he expected more from me than simply following instructions. I had to be sincere on all fronts, and doing so was admittedly exhausting, if not overwhelming at times. But I knew that much from the start, and I would be lying if I didn't admit that it was doing more good than I had initially been willing to admit. I certainly didn't feel cured - I knew it was unreasonable to believe that I ever _would_ be - but I felt significantly more functional than I had in months, and I counted that alone as a victory in its own right.

"That you're still sober is remarkable," Kim had said at the beginning of a session near the middle of December, his bluntness something that I had come to expect in his approach by then. I wordlessly agreed, and he added pointedly, "I would like to keep it that way. I want to approach this like AA. Maybe not exactly the same, but we'll tailor it to something you're more comfortable with. You need to learn how to _be_ sober."

"I _am_ \- "

" - I mean, for the longterm."

I sighed, "I know _how_. It's everything else I need to learn how to do."

"And that's why you're here," he said, then paused, seeming to consider his words before he spoke again, "Part of AA is making amends. I think that's something you need to consider. You've said you have few meaningful relationships, right?"

"Right. And I'm fine not having more."

"That's alright. You prefer a smaller group. But considering that, you need to be able to maintain those connections. Has anyone been hurt by your alcoholism?"

I laughed bitterly, though I knew he didn't appreciate the gesture, "Yes."

"Who?"

"My best friend, I know that for sure. And my grandfather, too, I think...and someone that I was interested in."

"Romantically?"

"Yes."

"You tend to isolate yourself," he said thoughtfully, almost seeming to approach a different vein of the discussion, and for a moment I believed that I had avoided a potentially disastrous conversation, "It's no wonder you've had bouts of depression."

"No kidding," I scoffed.

"Alcohol played a significant role in that, and you lived for a long time that way. And that's hurt others. I would like, for the sake of approaching this holistically, for you to make amends. I think you need to."

"Do I?" I said with feigned ignorance. I knew that I did, of course, and I had considered that component more than once. But actually doing so held more consequences than I wanted to consider, and I would just as soon have skipped that step altogether.

Because I could talk to Nadir, could call my grandfather whenever I needed to. But if I agreed to it, I would also have to contact Christine - and once again, that presented a problem. I couldn't help thinking about her as time went on, even as I continued to try to avoid doing so. Yet I didn't want to invite her back into my life, and one phone call would undo my resolve to stay away from her. I knew there was still that part of me that wondered what more there could be between us, that wished for _any_ of those thoughts to become reality. But I knew I wasn't able to give her that or any stability then anymore than I had been before I got help - remembering the last kiss we shared served as a glaring reminder that I always wanted her, but would continue to hurt her if I pursued. If we spoke again, I wouldn't be able to let her go, nor did I want to put her through the rejection again. The last time had been hard enough for the both of us; I had done enough to hurt her already, alcohol or no. It wasn't easy to stay away - I _wanted_ to talk to her, maybe even to explain my absence, but distance still seemed imperative at the time. If anything, I had to recover, to gain more stability on my own before I could consider anything else.

But I knew I had to at least _appear_ to be on board - so I lied, hoping to move the appointment forward as I said, "I'll think about it."

~~oOo~~

A night or so before Christmas, I couldn't determine exactly - because I truly didn't care to keep track beyond the necessity of my work schedule - I found some time to myself in the doctor's lounge and all but took up residence there, hoping to stay for as long as possible. I was exhausted, and I had needed the break more than I'd realized as my shift reached its halfway point. I had volunteered to work every night shift that week to allow some of the other physicians the time away with their own families, and a part of me was regretting the offer. Though, beyond that minor discomfort, my doing so was no great sacrifice to me whatsoever - I had no one to celebrate with; my grandfather lived too far away to allow making travel arrangements easy, I strictly avoided the inevitable phone calls from my father, and Nadir and his family didn't observe the holiday. I truly wasn't missing out on anything. But the gesture at least earned me some favorable points within the department, and I could enjoy the fact that doing so kept me low on anyone else's radar. It was worth it, all things considered.

By then, I was doing better - perhaps not drastically so, but enough to be tentatively encouraged. Although I was still restless, I was managing myself far more confidently than I had even weeks before. And while I couldn't necessarily say that I was happy, I was still far better off than I had been. It was a balance that was strangely restoring, even if that restoration only took place sporadically. I was existing much the same as I had at the beginning of my time in Chicago, when I felt more grounded, almost hopeful. But even so, there was still a part of me that remained that felt more than a little slighted by what I had done to myself. I didn't think that would fade anytime soon, and it was an unfortunate truth that I would just have to accept and learn to live with. I _was_ better - only now I knew what I was missing, and that stung. But, like so many other things I bit back, I wouldn't dwell on that negativity, even if it meant outright denial. I could at least justify that it was a denial accompanying a nobler cause than past instances. I was making significant progress with the social worker, and I wanted to believe that it would be a lasting change in me - that it would be permanent this time around.

I was pulled from my thoughts when the door to the lounge opened; Nadir walked in, appearing frustrated but no worse for the wear than I had seen him before. It had been a particularly busy night for everyone - the holidays always attracted more illness and injury than what we'd normally have to treat, and we had just barely been managing the intake of patients. Only within the last half-hour or so was there a lull in activity, and while most who were able fled to the cafeteria then, Nadir and I had agreed to stay downstairs. If our department was hit again, we stood a chance to get a handle on it before the additional surge of doctors and nurses made it too chaotic to control quickly.

"Is there coffee?" Nadir asked.

"Do you have eyes?" I said, gesturing vaguely to the countertop in the corner of the room, "It's right there."

"Don't be a smartass," he said, completely unfazed by my words.

Ignoring him until he sat at the table across from me, I asked, "How much longer do we get, do you think?"

He shrugged, "It's hard to say, honestly. Enjoy the break while you can."

I nodded, pausing before I spoke again, needing to speak before I lost my nerve, "I'm thinking of going back home. Maybe before New Year's...Did I tell you that earlier?"

"No, you didn't," he said slowly, seeming to need to recover from my unexpected words. He didn't speak for a time, but rather studied me for a moment before finally speaking, "That's your choice. But do you think you're ready?"

"Yes...I think the time away was important, but I need to be able to be alone, to really make sure what I'm doing is working."

"You're right," he conceded, "But please, _please_ let me know if something goes wrong."

"I will."

"Promise me."

"Nadir - "

" - Just do it," he insisted, though not harshly.

I sighed, "Alright. I promise."

Seemingly satisfied that I was being honest, he nodded and said, "You'll be fine."

"I would hope so."

"You know what your problem is?" he continued, a hint of humor in his voice now.

"I don't think we have the time to go over that - "

" - I think you have too damn much free time."

"Is that a fact?" I asked with mock-astonishment.

"You could consider taking on a project," he offered, "Work with students again. You did great with Durant."

I flinched at his casual mention of Christine's name, and I was sure he saw that. I still hadn't taken the advice to reach out to her, and I certainly hadn't been expecting Nadir to mention her then. I missed her enough on my own, but actually _talking_ about her was almost more than I could handle. But I was _supposed_ to handle that uneasiness - that was the whole point of these last weeks spent in therapy and behaving myself and taking those stupid fucking happy-pills. I had to handle reality, even when it didn't match up to what I wanted.

So I sighed, and responded as if my mind wasn't screaming for me to shut the hell up, "Christine was the exception. I doubt there are any more students like her here. I really wouldn't want to work with anyone else."

He nodded, "She _is_ a good student. One of the best this year."

"More than the best. She'll be a great doctor," I said fondly, "She _has_ to be, I don't know many others so...I don't know, compassionate. She enjoys what she does."

"It's refreshing to see that," he agreed, "Most of these kids come in with chips on their shoulders. Not Durant."

"No, she's sincere," I said, then added before I could think on what I was actually saying, "That's honestly part of why I love her."

And I paused.

 _I love her._

 _Fuck._

I hadn't realized it until then; somehow, I must have been dumb _as hell_ , because I truly _hadn't_ been conscious of it. How was that possible? I cared about her, yes, and very much so - but at the same time I had assumed until then that I hadn't fallen quite _that_ far. But once I said it aloud, I couldn't deny it or ignore it. It had happened whether I liked it or not - once again, something entirely out of my control. It was...a lot to comprehend. I believe that I fell in love with her slowly, like a distant storm rolling in - then all at once the realization struck me, forceful as lightning. And that was the end, apparently. At first I fell in love with her mind, with an intangible idea of what she would become. But then I continued to get to know her, and all hope of turning back and forgetting was lost for me then. It was _too_ easy to fall in love with her, to _stay_ in love with her. Her mind, her tenacity, her eyes and the compassion in her voice, her hands…

 _Stop..._

Yet it wasn't right - I knew that. It wasn't that I didn't want to love her, but rather that I shouldn't - much like before, the fact remained even now. I was doing better, but I still had a long way to go, nevermind what had happened in the past to cultivate the man I had turned into. It was a lot for anyone to have to shoulder. And I just...didn't want Christine involved in any of it. But I never could quite stop thinking about her, either. A part of me didn't want to. But a stronger part believed that I had to, at the very least I had to forget what I had _just_ said, what I had just realized. And maybe, like a storm, that affection would pass. I couldn't guarantee that it wouldn't leave either of us in ruins in the process, but it _had_ to pass.

"You what?" Nadir said, ignorant to my thoughts in his own shock.

I responded hastily, "Forget I said anything."

"How could I forget that?" he asked, almost laughing and raising an eyebrow, "What exactly happened between you two?"

"Why are you asking me that? We're at _work_."

"No one's here. Please, let me have my fun," he pressed, "So, what happened?"

I glared in response, " _Not_ what you're thinking, so leave it there."

"Fine, fine," he said, still completely unaffected, "Does she know, at least?"

"Obviously not," I muttered. _One issue at a time_ , I thought, still reeling from that first revelation - actually speaking to her after that was out of the question, I was sure.

But Nadir continued, "You should tell her."

"I don't think she'd want to know this. Not after everything I did to her."

He spoke more seriously in return, now that he saw no reason for me to share in his levity, "I'm sure she'll forgive you if you explain what's been happening with you."

"No," I insisted. But he, of course, wasn't so easily convinced, so I added, "Even if she does forgive me, I think this is more than _I_ can take on right now. More than I _should_. Aren't alcoholics supposed to stay out of relationships the first year sober?"

"Strictly speaking, yes. But then again, your AA is somewhat of a bastardized version of that. Honestly, I'd be more in favor of you being happy _with_ someone, since it's clearly someone you care about. You should at least try," he said, then held up a hand at my protests, "That's all I'm saying."

"Nadir - "

" - Just talk to her. Or I will."

"Don't you _dare._ "

"You two would be good together."

I rolled my eyes, desperately hoping that he would just drop the subject, let me catch up to myself before anything else happened, "Not everyone needs to be paired off. Least of all me and Christine."

"You're right on the first part," he shrugged, "But if you hadn't just admitted to being in love with her, I'd be more willing to accept that you sincerely believe that idea doesn't apply to you."


	13. The Heart Won't Lie, Part 2

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back, y'all! And thank you all so much for reading and to those of you that left reviews. As always, the feedback it appreciated! Just a quick tidbit this morning - please remember to put this story on your alerts list if you haven't done so already. Next chapter, the rating goes from T to M because of reasons, and therefore this story will no longer automatically go the FFN's first page when I update. So, make sure you don't miss out on any of the shenanigans! Regarding this chapter, please let me know what you think - I always like to improve where I can, and see what y'all like that is working. Finally, the chapter title, of course, comes from the same duet as last week. Anywhoodles, I think that's everything. Please read and review, and most of all - enjoy!_

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Chapter 9 - The Heart Won't Lie, Part 2

Erik

 _I love her._

That one thought prevailed, still too new for me to actually comprehend, yet too significant to just be able to ignore, either - even as much as I wanted to. I hated to admit it, but I would much rather have left that declaration of love unsaid and unconsidered altogether. I wasn't sure if I could handle the implications that followed it; I had only just barely begun to feel somewhat competent in the other facets of my life, and I wasn't willing to test the waters just outside of that comfort zone so soon after the fact. Yet I couldn't undo what I had said.

 _I love her..._

 _Shut the hell up._

I didn't want to think about it. I didn't know what it meant then, what I was even _supposed_ to do with that revelation beyond the obvious. If I was a smart man, or even relatively normal, I would have acted as anyone else in my position would and actually _do_ something about it, would have talked directly to the woman I claimed to love and hope that we could move on together. It would have been ideal, and we likely would have been happy together - she wanted a relationship, I wanted her with me. It should have been that simple. But I _wasn't_ that man, nor did I want to be then. I didn't truly know how anymore - I had lived as a functioning alcoholic for too long to be able to comprehend most interpersonal interactions, let alone with someone so significant to me. I couldn't face that yet. And moreover, I already felt far too overwhelmed thinking about _any_ of it when considering everything else I was trying to work through. As such, I simply refused to dwell on it - in my mind, I had to.

I would have been successful, if not even temporarily. Nadir's pager had cut right through our discussion, and he had needed to leave the lounge in a hurry - long before he could continue pressing me for information, or trying to convince me to act. The conversation had simply never truly ended, and I was grateful for that. It gave me an out, or at the very least enough of a break to regain my composure. But in the end, that lack of a proper conclusion only meant that he sought me out later, long past midnight when the department was nearly empty and interruptions would be scarce, if not completely nonexistent. By then, he found me working on my charts and pulled me toward the on-call room without much preamble, likely doing so to ensure that much more privacy for the coming conversation and demanding answers that I wasn't sure how to give then.

Once he had closed the door, he turned back to me, a look of thinly veiled impatience inviting me to speak.

So I did just that.

"If we're doing this," I said dryly, "you could at least buy me dinner first."

"Shut up," he snapped back, "I plan to convince you to go talk to Durant, preferably before the end of this shift."

"Ain't happening."

He rolled his eyes, "I _really_ don't understand why."

"I've _told_ you why - "

" - Fine," he amended, waving a dismissive hand before continuing, "But I don't think it's a good enough excuse. If you love her, go _do_ something about it."

"Now really isn't the best time to do that."

"But you're doing so much better - "

" - It could be a fluke."

"You don't know that," he said seriously, almost gently, as if he was trying to convince a child that there wasn't a monster under the bed. It would have almost been a condescending statement coming from anyone else, but Nadir's heart was in the right place. He wasn't trying to offend so much as he was attempting to encourage me, to help me find my own confidence when I lacked the ability to do so alone. I had to remind myself of that as I formed my response, had to remember to remain patient as we talked. He was only trying to help in the best way he knew how, and nothing that he was saying was wrong - not exactly.

"I know myself," I said slowly, my words measured, "And well enough to know that I only get so much stability before something happens. And then I lose it, and I don't want her to be around me when that happens."

" _If_ that happens," he insisted, then sighed, "I think this is just another way for you to isolate yourself. Another excuse."

" _Please_ trust me, it isn't an excuse. At least not in the way you're framing it. This is for her sake as much as my own."

"I don't agree with that," he said, almost petulantly.

"You need to."

Allowing that topic to settle for a time, he instead regarded me for a moment before asking, "What exactly happened between the two of you?"

"Why we stopped talking?"

"No, I know all that. I mean there's something beyond friendship there. _Clearly._ "

I sighed, pausing before finally being able to admit, "We kissed. More than once, but that was the end of it. We never got to have a relationship. We...I don't know, we walked around the topic so many times. And I always rejected her."

"As you fell in love with her."

I crossed my arms, looking away, "I guess."

"When?"

"That day Chaney and I were fighting, the one you broke up. He walked in on Christine and I together, more or less. Nothing unseemly, but - "

" - No, I mean when did you fall in love with her? I mean _actually_ fall in love with her?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. I'm really still processing it right now, I _just_ realized it. Why does it even matter?"

"I just wonder how I'd missed it. I thought it was just a workplace fling, if nothing else," And then he was quiet for a time, seeming to consider his words before he finally offered, "What about just _talking_ to her again? You don't have to tell her what you told me."

"No," I insisted, then held up my hand to cut off his next words, knowing exactly what he meant to say, "And you're not going to, either."

"I _should_ , though."

" _Don't_."

Another pause, then he shrugged, "Fine, I won't talk to her. End of story."

I sighed impatiently, but ultimately let the issue lie. I just wanted to be appeased by his statement - so much so that I took his words at face-value and left it at that.

~~oOo~~

Christine

I would be spending Christmas alone that year. The few friends that I had made in school up to that point had gone to their respective hometowns for the break - even Raoul had opted to go back to California for as long as he could stay away.

He and his family would likely devote their time to the holiday at the house in Tierra Santa, if they stayed home at all. His parents were not above seeking out the high-end restaurants that the larger cities offered. That arrangement always took the burden of meal-planning off their shoulders, and they were willing to travel to see to its success, sometimes choosing to go as far south as Coronado, or as far inland as Palm Springs. It all depended on how many relatives they had chosen to host that year. Thought, quite frankly, I truly couldn't say that I cared what the Chaneys were up to, not even Raoul. His parents and I had never really gotten along well, certainly not for the duration of my relationship with their son, and so it wasn't difficult for me to banish any considerations for them altogether. To ignore Raoul, however, had been a conscious decision, and one that had proven to be enduring for my part. I had adamantly refused to speak to him since that last encounter in my apartment, and I intended to continue keeping our interactions limited for the time being - at the very least, until I had a significant reduction in my stress levels. But he was kind enough to sincerely respect my decision, and for that I was grateful in return. I had enough to worry about as it stood.

My pediatric rotation painted the month of December, and dismally so at that. I would be lying if I didn't admit that it was my least favorite aspect of my education so far. It was just as difficult as Erik had said - by nature, work in the pediatric department was physically draining and emotionally demanding, and even discussing those aspects of it with my resident and fellow students did little to alleviate the tension I had to learn to carry. Working with and tending to sick and injured children wasn't something that anyone could truly prepare for, no matter how much studying I did, no matter how much attention I paid to lectures and discussions on the matter. At the end of the day, it was simply too sad to see them in the hospital to begin with, to have to put on a brave face in front of them while needing to have so many serious conversations with their families in the next breath. It was during those particularly trying times that I sincerely missed having Erik to talk to at the end of those shifts - I missed _him._

It had been weeks now since we had last spoken, yet we still had to coexist within the confines of our work. But now, when we saw one another at the hospital, any glances we had formerly shared were replaced by awkward and brief flashes of consideration. And even that much was limited - otherwise, he held steadfastly to his determination to keep away, and in turn I had to continue to hold my head high. I could cry over him in the privacy of my own home, but to the rest of the world, we were colleagues rather than estranged friends. I hated it, hated that what had happened had never found the resolution that I had hoped for, but there was nothing I could do about it. Work continued on regardless of his silence, and as such I made it a point to maintain my own successes as if nothing had happened between us. I was there first and foremost for my education; outside relationships had to take a backseat to the bigger picture.

I had to remind myself of that fact more often than I cared to admit.

But life continued on, and with it my continued resolve to focus on work, and only work. And so, in my stubbornness to block out all else, I was not prepared for the unexpected occasion, just a day away from Christmas Eve, that Dr. Khan asked if he could join me to talk in the cafeteria.

It was technically during my dinner break, although that term could only be loosely applied to what was actually happening. In reality, I had been working graveyard shifts over the holidays - voluntarily so, though more as a means to distract myself from the fact that I had no family to go home to more than anything else. But because of the nature of the scheduling, of coming in for a shift in the evenings and leaving it early in the mornings, dinner tended to fall somewhere around midnight, if not far past it if the shift was hectic. Thus, instead of eating anything even remotely resembling a balanced and responsible meal, I contented myself with strong coffee and little else. And as I reflected on this poor yet necessary choice of fuel, I was admittedly surprised to see Dr. Khan enter the cafeteria to begin with - I had assumed, though without any real basis for doing so, that he would have taken the opportunity to use his status as chief of his department to avoid the overnighters. And so, when he approached my table with his characteristically warm smile and inviting manner, it still took me longer than I would have liked to accept his request to take the chair beside me.

"How's this rotation treating you?" he opened amicably, unaware of just how little I was enjoying my current assignment. But he was my superior, and I didn't want to appear unprofessional by airing my complaints, even as they had more to do with my own state of mind rather than anything the hospital's employees had caused.

So I simply responded, "It's challenging, but I'm learning a lot."

He nodded, "Good, good. I'm happy to hear that. I'm looking forward to your second ER rotation, though. You were an excellent resource for us," he said, and I smiled politely at the compliment as he continued, "When will you be with the ER again?"

"Sometime in early spring. I just have two departments left after this."

"Not too bad. Are you on graveyard now?"

"For the holidays. Actually, I'm surprised to see you here," I admitted, absently curious about how much I could get away with asking him. I didn't want to breach professional boundaries - I respected him too much to do so - but I enjoyed talking to him, and I felt that it would be nice not to have to limit our conversation too much.

"I always work through the Christmas-time night shifts. My wife and I are Muslims, so I figure I can take some of the load off anyone that wants to get out of the city for the week."

I smiled, "That's a nice gesture."

He shrugged, "It explains _me_ being here. But I thought students got a little time off."

I cleared my throat, immediately regretting wanting to have a more involved conversation. I realized too late that it was inevitable that I would have to uphold my half of the discussion at some point, and the holidays always led to questions about family - of which I had none anymore. It stung, as it did every year, and I hoped that Dr. Khan didn't notice my discomfort as I attempted to find a neutral answer, one that wouldn't earn that pitying nod and sad smile I had grown to hate, "Everyone I know is here in Chicago."

He gave me a look of understanding, though accompanied by a brief flash of sympathy, but was gracious enough to move quickly past that, instead responding, "Well, I do hope you have a happy holiday," then he smiled with levity rather than pity, "Even if you have to be here."

I returned that smile for a moment, before venturing, "Dr. Khan, I don't mean to be rude. But, I've seen you a thousand times in this cafeteria, and you've never tried to talk to me, so - "

He held up a hand to cut my question short, patiently supplying, "So why do it now? I understand, this is...unorthodox, I guess. But important. You and I have a friend in common that needs to be discussed."

I sighed, immediately knowing that there was only one person that he and I shared, "Erik isn't my friend. Not anymore. I don't know how much he told you, but -"

" - He told me everything," he responded matter-of-factly, as if being privy to the details of my relationship with Erik hadn't phased him. In fact, that didn't seem to be the case at all as he continued, "And, of course, I know that you and Erik haven't spoken in a while."

"No," I said sadly, "Not since Raoul...and everything that happened after that mess," then I added, abruptly remembering something that had been endlessly worrying me in the past weeks, "Dr. Khan - "

"Nadir, please."

I nodded, "Nadir, is Erik alright?"

He was silent for a moment, seemingly attempting to find a way to respond, before finally just saying, "He's doing better."

"What happened to him? I mean, I know everything on my side, but the last time I saw him...I don't know, he was scaring me. He talked about his anxiety, and...I just didn't know what to do for him, or even how bad it was."

"It was bad, but the _how so_ isn't for me to say. He's been through a lot, and it catches up to him sometimes."

I sighed, not entirely satisfied with the vague statement; but knew I would get no more information than that. I would simply have to accept the assurance that Erik wasn't in grave danger, or at least immediate danger, as far as I could tell. But even so, the fact remained that he was supposed to be doing better, yet hadn't seen fit to reveal that to me, to break the silence once and for all. At the very least, I wanted the opportunity to say my piece, and I knew I couldn't do so until some amicability was restored, "Is he still mad at me?"

"It's not necessarily that," Dr. Khan - Nadir - said, an evasion still clearly mingling with his words.

As such, I hoped not to sound too frustrated as I asked, "Then what is it? Why isn't _he_ the one telling me this?"

"Again, it's not for me to say. He...just needs time."

I sighed, "I can't understand him."

He smiled at that, "Erik is _not_ an easy person to understand. Especially when he gets on a stubborn streak. I really do wish he would tell you more himself, though."

I huffed a laugh at that, more a bitter musing than an agreement. Wishing had gotten me nowhere - wishing and crying and hoping for my wayward friend to find me again had only made me feel worse throughout the preceding weeks. And at that thought, there was an instant that an image I had long thought forgotten flashed before my mind's eye, one of an old watercolor painting that my grandmother kept in her den. _If wishes were horses, beggars would ride_. The words, painstakingly imparted in calligraphy on the ribbon of an old-fashioned carousel horse had always been somewhat of a mystery to me when I was a child, their meaning elusive in my innocence. What I wished for when I was young was always simple - it was only when my naivety was forced away from me that I truly understood what it meant to have a wish go unfulfilled. I _wished_ for my father to have a miracle, I _wished_ for Erik to love me, I _wished_ that I could forget what had happened between Raoul and I. There eventually came a point in my life that I had to stop wishing and take care of myself; and although I could not say when that moment of clarity arrived, I could distantly acknowledge that it was a tragic sort of change.

I thought of my wishes then, and I wondered where I would ride with them, what my destination would be now that I had become a beggar. I wondered what my wish _should_ be. Because I was still very much in the same position I had been in for weeks - I didn't know whether to move forward or backward, whether forgiving Erik should mean forgetting how much he had hurt me, hoping all the while for the chance to allow something stronger to grow between us again. It was all far more complicated than any one person should be expected to shoulder.

And then...I just didn't want to consider any of it - not again.

So I broached another topic that had piqued my curiosity, "Why do you care about what happens between us?" then amended quickly, "I don't mean that the way it sounds, but it takes a lot to want to go to bat for someone, doesn't it?"

"No, you're right," he sighed before continuing, "Erik is like family to me. That's the short version of it. I love him like a brother. But in keeping with that dynamic, he's the _younger_ brother in every sense. So I have to protect him, and in this case, I'm protecting him from doing something stupid."

"Such as?"

"Such as acting like a colossal jackass to someone he cares about. And he _does_ care about you," he said, then repeated emphatically, "He just needs time to settle before he comes around again."

I could only nod at that, not yet quite sure just what to do with that assurance, opting to say instead, "I can't help feeling like I'm in high school right now, and you're the guy telling me your friend has a crush on me."

He laughed, the tension somewhat easing with the gesture, "I'm sorry, I can see how this looks that way now. He didn't send me to talk to you, believe me. The opposite, actually. I was directly told _not_ to have this conversation with you.

I raised an eyebrow at that, more amused by the admission than anything else, "And you disagreed?"

"He would do the same thing if _I_ were the one acting like this."

I laughed, "You're a good friend to him," I said, then a thought occurred to me, and I asked before I could lose my nerve, "How long have you known each other?"

He took a moment before responding, likely having to make the mental calculations on the spot, "Well, damn, probably around...seventeen, eighteen or so years now."

"How did you two meet?" I asked, finally feeling more at ease in the conversation than I had since it began, adding lightly, "Or can you not say that, either?"

He laughed, "No, _that's_ fine. It's no big secret. I actually went to med school in Tennessee, around the time Erik was in junior college. He was only about seventeen - "

" - He was seventeen in college?" I asked, absently feeling guilty for interrupting, but somewhat shocked by that new piece of information. It had never come up in conversation between Erik and I before, and something told me that he wasn't just a highschooler earning college credits early. It was another piece of the puzzle, and I wanted to know more.

Ignorant to my thoughts, Nadir answered, "He graduated high school early. He's a genius, did you know that?"

I paused, wondering if I had heard correctly. I shook my head, "No, I didn't," then added in near-disbelief, "Do you mean he's _literally_ a genius?"

"Yes," he said, almost proudly, before continuing, "He doesn't hide it, but he doesn't necessarily brag about it. More of a need-to-know kind of thing...Anyway, it's something that's made his life more difficult than it needed to be. Just the way he processes things…" he trailed off for a moment, seemingly taking the time to remember not to overshare, "It's made him an excellent surgeon, at any rate. I think he could have been renowned in his field. But he can't function in society, not like he needs to."

"That makes sense," I said softly, and although a part of me was still struggling to comprehend what I had just been told, at the same time the words granted me that much more clarity about the man they described, another clue into his mind, "I could see it most when he talked. In a lot of ways beyond that, really. I'm surprised I didn't realize it sooner."

"He's good at downplaying it."

I nodded, deciding to return to the original path of the conversation before others became too overwhelming, "But you were saying, he was seventeen when you met? Was that before or after the, um…"

He smiled knowingly at my hesitation, "It was before he stole the car. But that's a story for another time. Anyway, when I was in school, I went into a mentorship program as an extracurricular, and he and I got paired together. It was all completely by chance," he laughed, "We have extremely uneventful origins, to be honest."

I returned the laugh as I asked, "Was he a pain in the ass then, too?"

"More so," he rolled his eyes, "Believe me. He had a chip on his shoulder from day one. I didn't know he was like that with everyone, so I just thought he hated me. Though, he probably did to an extent. He was reserved...For good reason, though. He didn't have an easy time when he was growing up, and by the time we met I think he was just ready to give up on people. He was...world weary. It got worse over time, but back then it was bad enough."

Nadir's words saddened me, but I honestly didn't know how to address them, what the gravity of their origins implied in the bigger picture. That, like so many other things, would have to be approached later. And so, for the moment I only asked, "Then how did you end up getting to be friends?"

"Time," he mused, his knowing smile returning, "And patience."

 _That again,_ I thought, though I couldn't maintain my frustration then, simply opting instead to tease, "You must have the patience of a saint."

He shrugged, still smiling, "Maybe I do. Who knows. But I think that's what you need now. Just be patient. He'll come around when he's ready."

"I need to respect his wishes," I insisted, but even so the words sounded halfhearted.

"I know. But...that won't have to last forever."

I sighed, hoping that what he was saying was true and admittedly ashamed of myself for doing so, remembering once again that my wishes were so often made in vain - especially, lately, where Erik was concerned. Bearing that in mind, I had to wonder if this situation would prove to be any different, if gaining the knowledge and assertions I had from his closest friend would come to mean anything at all, or if it was just another exercise in futility. I had no way of knowing, and I couldn't say that it would be so easy to take Nadir's advice, even as he had seemed to sincere and confident in offering it. I wanted to believe that something good would happen on that basis alone...I truly did. So I simply said, "Thank you, Nadir. This really helps."

If he meant to respond, I didn't have the chance to find out. Without warning, Erik walked in then, effectively ending my conversation as he seemed to be looking for the very person I had been talking to. He looked genuinely surprised to see me there before quickly breaking eye-contact altogether. From there, it appeared that he was about to speak to Nadir, but he was silenced well before he could find his voice.

"Don't bother," Nadir said, clearly preempting whatever it was that Erik was about to say, though whether that would have been a question or a direct reprimand, I didn't know, "We're finished talking," then to me, "Enjoy the rest of your shift, Christine."

Nadir stood and joined his friend at the cafeteria's main entrance, and only then did Erik look at me again directly; and distantly, I noted something in his expression that I couldn't quite name, something markedly different than before. But before I could dwell on it for too much longer, I recaptured an air of passivity and offered him a sad half-smile before turning away. They both left then, and in their absence I finally allowed myself to draw a deep breath, to try and collect my thoughts, all of which were now more chaotic than they had been when I had arrived. Nadir had said to be patient, and although I preferred to be stubborn, wanted to be petty and return Erik's silence for as long as he had extended it to me, simply for the fact that I had been so hurt by it, I was undone then - sighing, I knew that I could forgive him, should he ever chose to approach me again. For better or worse, there was no other way I wanted to proceed.

~~oOo~~

The following night was Christmas Eve, and once again myself and the few remaining med students on the pediatrics rotation were sent down to the emergency room to work the overnight shift. The holiday, by virtue of its traditional festivities, generally meant little ones overeating their Christmas treats or getting more or less minor burns from the fireplaces in their homes. Similarly, Christmas Day usually involved them getting varying injuries from new toys or other related mishaps. Either way, we were required to be in the ER for the majority of both shifts. I knew they would prove to be challenging - perhaps more so than others - but barring any large-scale accidents or illnesses, the patients we saw would likely get to go home, possibly without even having to be admitted, and I was looking forward to the relative break from the stress and chaos. The shift would be busy, but I didn't think any of us would leave it any worse for the wear than we had been at our arrival.

I had only been on the floor for a few hours when Erik approached me, much to my surprise. I had just finished seeing my resident and calling for discharge orders on a patient, happy to be able to send her home with her parents, and as such I wasn't expecting to see Erik at all - certainly not with the intention of speaking to me, and yet that turned out to be just the case. The department was fairly quiet by then; we were able to hold a conversation without having to be rushed, and I was able to regain my composure fairly quickly in that environment.

"I didn't know you'd be down here again," Erik said, though his words held none of the hostility I had initially feared. Rather, he seemed content to accept my presence, and I counted that as a small victory - albeit tentatively - all things considered. It was a relief to hear his voice, to have him to close to me. Our only interactions before that point had been so limited, so distant, and the contrast between past and present was not lost on me then. It was absurd - probably even reckless - but I wanted to reach out to him, to coax him into an embrace, if only to assure myself that this was real.

But instead, I only nodded, "I'm working the overnight."

He was silent for a time, likely unsure of how to respond. There was an instant, however brief, that I thought he might reach out to me as I had wanted to for him, but that assumption never came to pass. Rather, it seemed that he smiled beneath the surgical mask as he said, "It's good to see you."

And I returned that smile, almost elated as I responded, "It's good to see you, too."

We stood in silence for a moment after that, each of us seemingly unable to determine how to move on from there, how to even _begin_ to do so, before he finally shifted uncomfortably and said, "I should go. But..." he said hesitantly, confusing me in the next breath by taking my hand, and continued, "Thank you for volunteering to work on a holiday."

I narrowed my eyes at him, half-expecting some sort of explanation for his abrupt behavior, yet I received none. Rather, he released my hand and walked away, as simply and casually as if nothing had happened, as if our encounter hadn't been immensely significant. I nearly followed him to demand an answer - but in the next moment, I was shocked to realize that he had left a note behind, tucked carefully between our palms before he entrusted it to me; his display, it seemed, had been more for the sake of leaving it in my possession while maintaining a professional distance than anything else. Curious, I opened the note as discreetly as possible, just barely making out the words he had seemed to scrawl in a haste - _Meet me on the roof when you have your dinner break._ A simple enough invitation, on the surface, but I knew Erik - he didn't act without meaning. If he wanted to speak to me then, it had to be important. Whether or not that importance actually equated with something positive remained as yet unseen, and I was surprised by the gesture, but not unpleasantly so - rather, I found myself looking forward to the encounter, knowing that, if nothing else, his initiative _was_ significant, one way or another. That had to mean something.

When I looked up again, he was near the admit-desk, lingering just long enough, it seemed, to gauge my reaction. I met his eyes, just barely caught his nod, that meaningful glance toward the note before he turned away again.

I sighed, a bracing gesture to regain my focus. I still had over an hour before my break, and I wanted my mind on my work, and work only. Everything else could wait for the rooftop.

~~oOo~~

Dinner - as I had come to expect of the overnight shifts - wasn't as much the official manifestation of the term, but rather a midnight rush for whatever was left in the cafeteria, or scraps of tupperware rejects from those smart enough to bring something of their own. With any luck, there would be enough time to eat and relax, to _at least_ collect our thoughts before having to return to our shifts for the long hours before sunrise. But as students and interns, _that_ opportunity was rare, and as such the majority of us usually chose to spend our time having as much of a break as possible - more in terms of sitting still rather than eating - now that there was a substantial lull in patients. For my purposes, I was glad that everyone else was relatively distracted - it made it that much easier to slip away and meet Erik as requested.

He was already on the roof when I arrived, and I took a moment to remind myself not to expect anything - positive or negative - from the conversation. Not just yet. Whatever happened between us from then on would have to do so authentically - the way Erik and I spoke to and responded to one another was crucial, and we were still at the point, in spite of our outward amiability, that tipping the balance could be done so jarringly, if not devastatingly. And so, I steeled myself for _any_ possible outcome before making my presence known, allowing the roof-access door to close a little harder than it might have on its own.

The sound carried well enough on the wind; Erik turned around immediately, and I walked to join him at the edge of the roof, near the safety-barrier that had certainly born witness to innumerable conversations before. He was shivering in spite of the coat he wore, the consistent shuddering of his frame giving him away, but more apparent than that was the unmistakable look of apprehension in his eyes as he recognized me. But it passed soon enough then, and he reached up to remove his mask; I was grateful for that familiar gesture. It was a recognition of the bond we had built up before the fallout, the tentative trust we once shared and that I had hoped to restore. He appeared so young in those moments, somehow - yet seemed so ancient all at once; I was almost sad for him, knowing him well enough to understand why those contrasting features had manifested so resolutely. But even so, I noted that he also looked different, almost imperceptibly so, his eyes not quite peaceful in the absence of his fear, yet holding a new sort of calmness just the same. I hadn't noticed it before, when he had first approached me, but he looked markedly healthier than I had seen him in weeks, perhaps even since we met. I breathed a sigh of relief at those details - in anyone else, the change might have been commonplace, even easy to attain. But for Erik, I was sure that even regaining that much had been a battle.

Before I could consider any of that further, he spoke, just loudly enough for me to hear him, "I'm glad you came. I wasn't sure that the note would actually work."

"It had its charms."

He only nodded, satisfied by my quip, before he reached out and took my hand. And although I hesitated initially, I accepted the contact readily enough.

Leading me to stand at the barrier with him, he asked, "Have you seen the city like this?"

And I looked out to the scene he indicated - really _looked_ , wondering how I had missed the opportunity in the years since I had settled in - and smiled at what I saw. The now-familiar streets of Chicago were painted with snow that hadn't yet been trampled, with Christmas lights glittering among the more permanent neons and fluorescents. I was reluctant to use a cliche when considering the view, but it was absolutely picturesque, and I didn't want to have to look away. I had never seen it all from so high up, and it was a sweet sort of gift to get to do so. I sincerely appreciated that Erik saw fit to show it to me then, seemingly an olive branch of sorts.

"This is beautiful," I said, then turned to face him directly, "But I don't think you asked me up here to look at the landscape."

He responded with a sad smile, "No, I didn't. I just know this place means a lot to you."

"I haven't been back here since the last time we were here together," I said distantly, only realizing after the words were spoken that there was some bitterness aligned with the truth.

His pained expression told me he hadn't missed that, "And is that because of me?"

"I think so, to an extent."

"I'm sorry," he said, then breathed a laugh, "I'm sick of having to apologize up here."

And in spite of myself, I smiled, "It _is_ beautiful, though. Thank you. But really, why _are_ we here? What's this about?"

"It's about a long-overdue apology. I just...I'm sorry, Christine. For everything," he said, and I didn't doubt his sincerity then. I couldn't. His pride alone wouldn't have let him speak as he was if what he said wasn't the absolute truth, if it wasn't warranted. Unaware of my thoughts, he continued, "I did everything wrong. It's no excuse," he added hastily, "I'm not planning on making any excuses. But I wasn't doing well then, not for a while. And I just had to take care of it before I could talk to you again."

I nodded, appreciating his words yet not knowing how to respond directly then. I believed what he said - but I didn't know if I was as ready to accept them as I had initially thought I was. It was more difficult to let go of my pain when facing off with it than simply imagining it. So, to buy time and collect my thoughts, I asked instead, "Will I ever know what was happening with you?"

"Not specifically. There was a lot that I tried to handle on my own. I thought I could. If I tell you, it won't be now...it won't be soon. I just need time."

"But what about now?" I pressed, "I mean, your health. Are you going to be alright?"

He nodded, "I'm back in therapy."

I sighed in relief, grateful that he had done something responsible, "Good. Is it helping?"

"Slowly. But, I think so," he said, then sighed, "I really am sorry any of this happened in the first place," he began, but cut himself off when a gust of wind caught me off guard, making me shiver in spite of my heavy jacket. Erik took my shoulders gently in his hands, as if doing so would be enough to keep me warm, as if he wasn't far colder than I was as he said, "We can go back inside if - "

" - No, I want to stay," I insisted, shaking my head. I wasn't terribly uncomfortable, and I worried that going elsewhere would distract from the conversation, one that we very much needed to have, "Just...please, I don't want to stop talking. I feel like there's more to all of this than you're saying."

He was silent for a moment, looked up as if he was praying for guidance before he said, nearly in a whisper, "Please, just say that you'll forgive me. I missed you so much. I don't want to lose you because of this."

"I _want_ to be mad at you..."

He nodded, almost with resignation, "You have the right to be."

"I know," I said quickly, coming to my decision, at least on one regard, almost in the same breath as I spoke it aloud. I reached out to take his hands again as I said, "But I don't think I can be anymore. I want to forgive you. I _do_ forgive you."

And he just smiled, but his relief was evident all the same, "Thank you."

"Thank Dr. Khan."

"Right," he scoffed, though his tone was light, "What did he say, exactly?"

"He told me to be patient with you."

He only nodded at that - but even so, I didn't miss the look of relief that passed over his features before he was able to school them back into neutrality. I was more than a little certain that he was omitting something again, but that idea never quite had the chance to fully form. Erik half-smiled, a thought seeming to occur to him as he said, "Funny that he said to be patient, and I come to talk to you not a day after the fact."

"Did my talk with him have anything to do with that?"

He shrugged, "A bit. It was probably the last push I needed, to be honest. But he's not the first one to tell me to make amends."

"I'm glad he did," I said distantly, attempting to find some hidden context in his words, only to come up empty. And so I offered my own honesty, "I don't want this friendship to be over. I never wanted that."

 _I don't want to lose him._

"I shouldn't have decided it was," he said, then hesitated before attempting to explain, "I was...I don't know, hurt. Pissed off. It doesn't matter. It was a complicated situation."

"I wish it hadn't happened at all. Any of what went wrong."

"I know. So do I."

"How do we move on from this?" I asked.

"Maybe...now would be a good time to just move _past_ it. Start over. I want the friend I had in you to come back to me," he said, then added, "I can't...give you everything right now, though, and I don't know if that'll change. I don't want to lead you on anymore."

I sighed, attempting to catch up to that turn of the conversation, knowing that whatever could be said about any romance we had once shared had to be addressed as much as anything else. So I said, "Leading me on implies that this is one-sided. Do you still want me?"

"Yes," was his quick assurance.

"But…?" I prompted.

There was a pause, and we fell back into our own thoughts for a time. He seemed to very seriously consider his words before he spoke again, "But I'm not willing to hurt you."

"Then how do I know you won't do this again?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do I know you won't walk out again?" I asked, distantly annoyed at the desperation in my voice, but needing to continue, simply for the sake of making him understand, truly understand, that he hadn't been the only one suffering. I cared about him, wanted to see him safe and healthy, but we couldn't have a one-sided relationship, no matter to what capacity it manifested itself. Steeling myself with that resolve, I continued, "You stopped talking to me when I wanted to help you, when we _needed_ to talk to each other. You just left, and without giving me any say in it. Because something bad happened. How do I know this isn't how you plan to carry out your side of this friendship from now on?"

He bristled at that as if he was ashamed of himself, and held my hands tighter, almost pleadingly, "I just need you to trust me. _Please_ , please trust me," he said, and once again I couldn't ignore his sincerity.

I could only sigh then, as yet unable to respond, to assure him that my trust had been restored. In the moments that followed his request, I knew that I was worrying myself far too much over something that hadn't happened, yet having to consider what had happened between us so recently all at once. If he felt that severing all contact between us once had been the right decision, an appropriate reaction to the circumstances, then I had to wonder if he would repeat that cycle, if only to appease a misguided pursuit to protect me. He wanted me to trust him - but I _had_ before, and that hadn't gone well for either of us. He was asking a lot in the wake of this proposed reconciliation, and a part of me wanted to reject his plea outright. But a stronger part remembered how much I had missed him, how long and empty those weeks of silence had seemed. I knew I shouldn't depend on him for happiness, but I also knew that I had to find that balance, to accept his presence in my life for what it was - and, so many aspects of that presence _did_ bring me happiness, the kind that I hadn't shared with another person in a long time. I couldn't deny that - it factored significantly into my ultimate decision on the matter.

But before I could move forward, I still had something left that I needed to understand, asking, "Do you regret kissing me?"

He seemed taken aback by my question, by the abruptness of that shift in the conversation, but answered me regardless, "I regret the way I went about it. But...I'd do it all over again, so long as it was with you," then added with a humorless laugh, "I'd just do it all a hell of a lot better."

I nodded, "I don't regret it either…" I said, trailing off as I attempted to determine how to move forward now, in the wake of such a heavy discussion.

His hand tilting my chin up to look at him again, gently brushing it as he moved away broke my concentration, "I won't force you to trust me. I _can't_ force it. But know that I'm not going anywhere this time. I won't do this to you again. Just...let me keep talking to you after tonight. Is that fair?"

 _I don't want to lose him..._

I was undone once again - I couldn't deny it, and I sighed at the return of that truth. But I smiled just the same, satisfied enough by his words, by the obvious progress we had made that night, "Alright. Then is this a truce?"

"It's as close as I'll ever get to groveling."

"Good," I said, relinquishing any lingering doubts I harbored, if not a bit forcefully for the moment. But, determined to maintain my resolve, I took him in my arms before he could protest, saying firmly as I held fast to him, "Keep your word. Don't _ever_ do this to me again."

I felt more than I heard his laugh as he returned the embrace, holding me tightly, as if he was as afraid as I had been earlier that evening that this had all been a dream. We stayed lost that way, in that elation, for an immeasurable amount of time, simply holding each other. We had all but forgotten entirely that the world was still spinning, in spite of everything we had been through on the path to this moment, that the city below us was alive and completely ignorant of our reunion. That didn't matter - none of it mattered then.

He had my forgiveness, and I had his friendship. It was a restoration that I had been so certain would never happen between us. There were still aspects of it that would have to be rebuilt - I wasn't so lovesick as to ignore that - but there was still something _to_ rebuild. We hadn't been ruined. I couldn't be bitter that nothing more had come of it, that any romantic pursuits had been shelved once again. It was, by and large, enough that we were even speaking again, let alone with the return of our fondness for one another. Yet even so, something had shifted between us that night, something beyond simple companionship, an indefinite and undefinable thing; but I would focus on that later, I was sure. For the moment, I had Erik back - I felt his arms around me, the embrace fighting off the bitter cold, and a part of me felt that much more at ease, that much more willing to believe that he wasn't going to run away again. And in those moments, that was all that mattered.


	14. Here In Your Perfect Eyes

**Author's Note:** _Hello again, my darlings! This chapter is quite dense, so I'll try to keep this note short and sweet. First of all, thank you to everyone that's sticking around, reading, and reviewing - y'all are amazing and greatly appreciated! *HEART EYES MOTHERFUCKER!* Also, here's where we get into the M rating I've been mentioning, so...yeah, have fun with that. ;D As you'll see, there are some tropes that I just love (and do) to death (RE: Eternity, amirite?). Anywhoodles, please let me know what you think, especially about pacing, characterization, some more details revealed, etc. I'd love to know what's working and what's not - basically what I'm saying is I'm desperate for some review lovin'. :D And finally, the title for this chapter is based on lyrics from the song "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol. I know some of y'all are rather traumatized by the song (I'm looking at you, Gray's Anatomy), so maybe this will be a good chance to change some associations here, yes? Yes. Welp, that should be all for now. Keep an eye out for an update Friday, and mostly, enjoy!_

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Chapter 10 - Here In Your Perfect Eyes

Christine

Christmas came and went quickly, if not uneventfully - beyond mending fences with Erik, I couldn't say that anything significant occurred then, nor for the rest of the week. Working at the hospital kept me busy, more so after volunteering to take shifts over the holidays. And while I was understandably exhausted from the demanding hours, I couldn't say that I regretted those overnighters; working through them was yet another opportunity to practice my skills, as well as a chance to see Erik after I finished undertaking ER cases. We couldn't see much of each other that week, each of us more often than not called away to our respective responsibilities, but it was far better than the preceding weeks, and on the whole I couldn't quite say that I was disappointed with the holiday season that year - at any rate, I had spent more time with other people than I had in previous years, and doing so was admittedly agreeable to me. But otherwise, there wasn't much to my life outside of that hospital, and I would be lying if I didn't admit to looking forward to a short break.

It wasn't until New Year's Eve that I finally managed to secure some time off in favor of actually socializing. I had been invited to a New Year's party, an all-night event hosted by one of the other students living outside the city; he'd moved back home during medical school, back to parents that often traveled during the holidays and let their child use their home however he saw fit. Luckily for the student, they had a house large enough to host the relatively sizeable event, and it had apparently become the tradition to ring in the new year there, get obliterated on cheap booze, and stay over until long into the next morning. I didn't drink often, but I enjoyed doing so over celebrations, and I wanted the chance to see my friends outside of work; as such, I jumped at the opportunity to be out with them, still working out where I fit in among that group, all the while knowing that I likely wouldn't have the time to attempt to do so again in the near future.

The party, as it turned out, was out in Schaumburg, further away from Chicago proper than I had ever been during my time there - but on its own, the location itself wouldn't have been an issue for me, even in spite of my lack of familiarity with it. I knew my way around well enough by then to be able to get close by, and from there I was confident that I wouldn't get lost finding the rest of the way. On the surface, it was a simple enough journey. But as I was leaving the city, the snowstorm that had been relatively mild for hours beforehand had turned aggressive, and quickly so at that. In the forty or so minutes since I'd left my apartment and made it into the suburbs, visibility on the roads had been drastically reduced. Even though I had been in Chicago through enough harsh winters to expect the weather to be inconvenient at the best of times, and precarious at the worst, this was my first year with my own car; driving through the snow was a far cry from relying on public transportation when it came down so heavily around me. I didn't feel as comfortable driving on the slick roads as those that had learned to drive in those conditions, nor was I having any luck actually finding the address of the party. At one point, I pulled over in an attempt to get my bearings, sending a text to the host in order to find my way again once I had done so.

Several messages later, I assumed that I could continue on without further trouble, even though the snow hadn't let up significantly - but it was my intention to be on my way as soon as possible, before the weather had the chance to get any worse. However, the moment I switched back into drive and attempted to pull away from the shoulder, the car stalled out, and for no reason that I could readily identify. Restarting it, as it turned out, was not an option - whatever the issue was, there wasn't anything I could do about it then. I could find and handle most problems on my own if I had to, but that night I didn't want to take the chance - even if I put my hazards on, I couldn't guarantee that I would be safe if I attempted to see under the hood. Cars were still passing regularly, and one bad turn could easily send them flying in my direction. I didn't want to tempt fate in a foolish pursuit to prove my independence. But that also left me with very, very few options; once again, I was left stranded in Schaumburg because of a vehicle that had regularly proven itself to be unreliable.

"Fuck. _Fuck_ this car," I snapped, slamming my palm against the steering wheel, enjoying the rare chance to lash out irrationally. But the need to lose my temper passed easily enough, and it wasn't long before I recaptured the presence of mind to get myself out of that situation.

When I managed to call the few friends that had arrived at the party by then, they quickly informed me that they were already too drunk to come out to me. I couldn't be too upset by that news; I had expected as much, and they were kind enough to offer to pay for a taxi to get me there. But I quickly realized that I didn't want to bother with it at that point. By then, any desire to celebrate I had before had all but completely vanished; I'd spent so much time on the road, inexpertly navigating and facing one setback after another, and I was beginning to regret trying to drive myself in the first place. Taking the train would have been far wiser, and likely much safer than what I was attempting. I simply wanted to go home, and remembering the train, it seemed like my best option then. How to _get to_ the station, however, remained to be seen. Sighing, I decided to bypass Triple A or any such towing service entirely, knowing the wait wouldn't be worth it - not on New Year's Eve, not with so many other people out there dealing with mishaps during their own celebrations. But that just left me with one viable option - I only knew of one other person that lived that far outside of Chicago.

Erik and I had fallen back into our old routine, our friendship reignited by the embrace we shared on Christmas Eve - though the friendship had not manifested itself again without marked differences between what we shared in the autumn and now - whatever _that_ could possibly be said to be anymore.

There wasn't necessarily a distance between us, but I think there was a part of us both that had become a little more wary, a little more reserved than before, something unconsciously clinging to self-preservation even as we had reconciled readily enough. For my part, I only allowed this guardedness to continue simply for the sake of not overwhelming either of us - that was the only way I could make it palatable for myself after coming to terms with my own hesitance and concerns over Erik's past behavior. I still cared about him very deeply, still held on to my attraction for him, and although I wasn't willing to relinquish it altogether just yet - not without undeniable reasons or direct requests to do so - neither was I willing to push the issue before its time. Because whether I liked it or not, I wasn't sure if I was ready, and I knew Erik would resist on that point even if I was. He still hadn't told me exactly what he had been through during our time apart, nor did I think he would do so any time soon; but whatever it had been was clearly significant to him, and I wanted to respect his wishes on the matter - his request for time and a modicum of distance factored greatly into how we approached one another, nevermind how we could more forward. And, at any rate, only a week had passed since that night on the roof - I wasn't sure _what_ to expect in that short amount of time, if anything at all.

But, regardless of everything else looming over us, I _was_ grateful to have him back, grateful for each time I saw his name on my phone's screen or was able to greet him freely in the hallways of the hospital. He meant so much to me, and our unexpected reunion made me wonder how we had ever been able to be separated to begin with. I didn't want to go through that again - not if it could be prevented.

Reflecting upon all of this and hoping that I wasn't overstepping by doing so, I called Erik. As I did so, I distantly wondered if he was even home; and if he was, if he could at least help me find the closest train station. I didn't want to bother him, nor did I want to assume that he would drop everything for my by virtue of our friendship alone - but I also knew that I couldn't stay where I was all night. Calling him was the most reasonable way to resolve my predicament.

He _was_ home, but he sounded exhausted when he answered his phone, and I realized too late that his work schedule had been more demanding than mine that week. The overnight shifts seemed to throw us all off for quite some time afterward, and even he wasn't immune to that effect. But as we spoke and I explained my situation, he quickly dismissed my admission of guilt and hesitance to reach out, insisting that he hadn't minded my calling him - rather, he simply told me to stay in my car, that he knew more or less where to find me, and I was satisfied enough with that. It was by far more success than I had been granted that evening. But, that was about where my luck ran out again. At some point between breaking down and making that last phone call, the car's battery had died - and really, I should have been expecting as much. Ever since the first day I bought the vehicle, the first time it showed me just how temperamental it was, I had dealt with that problem more than once. But, irresponsibly, I hadn't actually taken it anywhere to have the issue corrected properly. It was no one's fault but my own - but even so, its failure only served to increase my frustration that much more. I had no heat, no lights, nothing available to make the wait relatively tolerable.

By the time the flash of Erik's headlights shone in my rearview mirror through the flurries, I was incredibly chilled and uncomfortable, and on the brink of a foul mood as a result. When I got out of the car to meet him, I couldn't say that I noticed a significant change in the temperature - it seemed as though it was as cold inside of my car as outside, and although I was dressed well enough to be out in that weather for a brief amount of time - namely, for as long as it took for me to get to my car, and then to the party from the host's driveway - the wait in between my car breaking down and Erik arriving had been pushing my luck. I was visibly shaking as I collected my purse and approached him, and he noticed that immediately. Without a word, he took off his jacket and gave it to me - and although it was a simple hoodie rather than a proper winter coat, it held on to the heat from his own body well enough, and I wrapped it around me tightly to conserve as much of that warmth as possible.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he led me to his car.

"I just want to go home," I nodded, settling in the passenger seat and noticing Rex in the back, seeming content as he sat patiently waiting for his owner to come back around to the driver's side. I smiled then, reaching to pet him as Erik got in and turned the heat up higher.

"I needed to bring him along, but I figured he'd like the ride," he said, noticing where my attention was.

"I'm glad you brought him. And thank you for coming to get me. I know it's a pain in the ass, but - "

" - It's not a pain in the ass," he insisted as he turned back onto the street, "I'd rather you didn't get hurt out here."

"I know, but you seemed so tired..."

He shrugged, his eyes never leaving the road in front of him, "It was a long week, but I've had worse hours. This is fine."

I chose not to press the issue and settled instead for leaning back in my seat, getting as comfortable and as warm as possible before I would have to wait on the train platform.

It was a steady drive toward the station, and taken for the most part in silence - but that silence was companionable enough, and I was enjoying Erik's company, finally having a chance to see him outside of work. In spite of our hesitant attempt at relearning the dynamics of our friendship, I was grateful to be with him then. I had missed him when we weren't speaking, and now I missed him when our schedules wouldn't permit us more time together. But we _did_ have that much again - I couldn't be too upset about the overall circumstances as they were, not when they had so recently been far less favorable.

Making an effort to remember that, too keep it in the proper context and not overthink anything, I sighed contentedly as I observed him. He wasn't wearing the surgical mask then - there really was no need to - and I took a moment to simply appreciate having him beside me, to admire his features in this relatively neutral setting. Being with him felt right, but even so a part of me felt a distant pang of regret at the fact that I wouldn't be able to kiss him goodbye once we got to the train, wouldn't be able to take his hand as we drove; I regretted the loss of sharing something more intimate than our current arrangement of cautious interactions. I was grateful to have him back, but I couldn't deny what fond regard remained between us, and having him so close to me was just another reminder of that. I wondered then if he was thinking the same thing, and if he would do anything about it if he was. I certainly _wanted_ him to, there was no question of that, but -

My thoughts were interrupted when, without warning, we hit a patch of black ice, causing the car to swerve severely over the double-yellows. Mercifully, there wasn't oncoming traffic at the time, but the risk of injury remained if the spin wasn't stopped correctly. Erik moved quickly, his right arm shooting out in front of me as a sort of shield as he turned the steering wheel into the slide, expertly maneuvering us out of any potential danger. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the tires found traction once again; we hadn't necessarily spun out, in the end, but we came close enough to doing so - too close for my preference. I didn't want to think about what might have happened had Erik not known what to do. If I was the one driving, I couldn't have said I would have remembered not to attempt to steer away from the spin, rather than letting the car take that natural turn into it. In noting this troubling thought on top of what had just happened, I realized that I was shaking from the shock of it all.

Erik had pulled over by then, as far off the street as he could safely get, turning on the hazards as he moved to look at me, "Are you hurt?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice before I answered, "No, I don't think so."

Relief was visible in his eyes at my assurance, only barely replacing the instant of alarm it had replaced. In the next moment, he gave me a sad, almost sympathetic smile and took my hand, "I'm sorry, I was trying to avoid the ice."

"You were fine," I said, attempting a smile of my own.

He nodded, then sighed as he released my hand. And he was entirely unaware of how much I missed the contact as he spoke again, "I'm not sure if I want to risk driving in this," he began thoughtfully before venturing, "Would you be opposed to staying overnight at my house? We're a lot closer to it than the station. I have a guest room, or the couch, whatever you want."

It took little effort to convince me - the near-miss had been more than enough to make me want to get off the road as quickly as possible, and my response was almost immediate, "I'd like that, thank you."

Once again, he looked relieved, and my guilt returned at pulling him from his home so unexpectedly, for putting us both in a potentially dangerous situation. But I knew he would insist otherwise, wouldn't be willing to allow me to feel worse, and in knowing that I opted to remain silent on the subject as we returned to the road. He had been correct in his assertion that we were close to his house; we pulled into his garage just under ten minutes later, if even that, and more than anything I was reassured at being out of the bad weather. After sending a message to my friends to inform them that I had gotten on my way safely, but would not be attending the party after all, I followed Erik into the house. I hadn't been there since that first day in October - we had so unexpectedly come together there only months ago, yet it felt like a lifetime had passed between that morning and now. A part of me wondered what this night would have in store, but I dismissed the idea before it had a chance to fully develop. I wouldn't expect anything - I _shouldn't_. I was simply grateful to be safe and in the company of someone I admired.

And so, moving along to a different path of thoughts and walking further into the house, I was somewhat surprised - if not quite saddened - that very little had changed. Outwardly, at the very least, the rooms I recognized were as they had been the last time I had set foot in them. Erik didn't even seem to have decorated for the holidays, as far as I could tell from that initial glance. But, I sincerely doubted that I was wrong in making that assumption - where my apartment was still brightened by my purple artificial tree, with lights and garland and cards on every available surface, his house showed no evidence of recently displaying any similar adornments. The only vague recognition at all that a holiday had just passed was a Christmas card tucked into the frame of a mirror in the foyer, and a lively drawing of a snowman - likely from Nadir's little son - hanging on the refrigerator. But otherwise, the feeling of homey nostalgia inspired by that time of year was absent; Erik's house reminded me more of the models I'd seen in developments rather than a place of personal reflection and comfort.

 _I would make sure he felt comfortable here_ , I thought with a sad sigh, but I didn't want to dwell on the implications of that idea for much longer - I knew nothing like that would be happening between us any time soon, and the idea of him spending his time alone in such a dismal environment only worsened my pining.

He spoke up from just ahead of me, pulling me back to the present as he took the harness off of Rex, "Make yourself at home. You know I don't have anyone over here that often, but I'd like to at least be a good host to you," he said, standing upright and facing me, "I feel bad that you're stuck here instead of enjoying your party."

"I really don't mind it," I said, and that much _was_ true - in spite of the unpleasant circumstances that led me to be an impromptu guest in his home, I sincerely felt more relaxed with Erik than I believed I would have elsewhere. By then, I was more tired than I had initially realized upon leaving the city, and the thought of the raucous and disorderly party was growing less and less appealing as the night wore on. Though, I wouldn't have had the chance to spend this time with Erik at all had I not attempted to make the trip, so I couldn't count the evening as a complete wash.

He smiled, seemingly appeased by my response, and gestured for me to follow him into the living room. As I settled down on the couch, he got to work setting up wood on the grate in the fireplace, explaining, "Before you called, I was fixin' to get this going," he nodded toward the hearth, then continued, "And I need to turn the heater up pretty high. The storm will probably knock the power out, and we're better off having it warmer in here before that happens."

I nodded, understanding the logic well enough; though my attention was drawn more to the words themselves rather than their meaning, to the way his accent became more apparent when we were alone. That often happened when we talked on the phone, but it was far clearer in person, and not for the first time I found that slight drawl to be as intriguing as it was pleasant to listen to. He spoke so much more carefully at the hospital, and although I didn't know why he chose to do so, it meant a great deal to me that he was willing to set aside that facade when it was just the two of us - it felt like an unspoken offering of evidence in favor of his trust in me, and the significance of that gesture was not lost on me then, whether or not it was conscious on his part. Considering this, I leaned comfortably against the arm of the couch, watching him as he continued his task, expertly coaxing the flames to come to life on the crumpled newspaper beneath the grate. I was distantly amused then to recall that I had never needed to perfect that skill - my childhood home _did_ have a fireplace, but we never actually had need or occasion to use it, rendering it more of a decoration than a practical tool.

Standing once his undertaking was completed, he turned to me and asked, "Do you need anything?"

I thought for a moment, and felt slightly embarrassed as I nearly muttered, "Can I borrow some pajamas? If you don't mind...I didn't think to bring anything."

"Sure, follow me," he said, seeming unfazed by the request, and I did as he asked.

We made our way directly upstairs, a part of the house that I hadn't seen before that night. Much like downstairs, the second level of the house was rather bare, yet not altogether unwelcoming. It, at the very least, had more of a lived-in quality that lacked elsewhere, and although it didn't reflect Erik's personality any more than the majority of the first level, I didn't feel as if I was being given a tour of a model home, either. As we walked down the hallway, likely toward his bedroom, I asked for a more complete glimpse of the space. He agreed - if not grudgingly so - and pointed out the few other rooms, adding one or two interesting aspects of the layout as we walked. I couldn't say that he was necessarily proud of the space or his ownership of it, but he seemed comfortable enough to show it to me, and it was nice to see that much more about him that would otherwise be shut off from the world. It was minimal, yet so intrinsically _his_.

From there, he led me to his own bedroom, another space that seemed incomplete somehow, though still noticeably more occupied than others. He wasn't a disorganized person in the least, but there was still plenty of evidence that the room was his - a glass of water on the nightstand, pillows laid absentmindedly in their place at the head of the bed, his hospital ID and wallet tossed haphazardly on top of his dresser, all little things that reflected that someone had lived there, and those small details were endearing to me in their own ways.

 _But I wonder who else he's had up here_ , I thought, a random and unexpected notion bringing no small amount of jealousy in its wake. It truly made no sense, on the surface. I didn't think he was the type to sleep around - he was far too reserved for that. _But_...that didn't mean he hadn't brought former girlfriends home in the past, either. And I wanted to hate them then, those nameless and faceless strangers - I wanted to hate them for even the possibility that Erik had ever loved them. Yet I quickly chastised myself for entertaining any of those thoughts - it was rude to do so, and it was none of my business regardless.

Erik, of course, remained unaware of my discomfort - of the reason for it - and instead set to work digging through the dresser. And as I managed to regain my composure, it wasn't long before he pulled out an old Iron Maiden t-shirt and pajama bottoms and handed them to me, saying, "These aren't great, but probably more comfortable than what you have on," and added as he nodded toward the hallway, "You can change in the the other room."

We parted ways then, and I eagerly changed out of what I had chosen to wear for the night's festivities. Only a small amount of what I'd worm was meant to be practical - everything else was a donned as a chance to dress up, to _really_ make an appearance when the majority of the time I had to dress sensibly and professionally. I wasn't wearing anything particularly daring for the event, necessarily - but I had no intention of being overly conservative, either, choosing instead to accent any curves I possibly could. It was nice to feel feminine for no good reason beyond doing so in the first place, rather than like another face in a sea of labcoats. But, I realized soon enough that my decision had also come to work against me as the night went on; in the end I only felt stiff and constricted. Removing the tight layers in favor of what Erik had given me - even if it didn't fit well - was an immense relief, and I felt significantly better then.

When I returned downstairs, he was in the kitchen making coffee, and was initially unaware of my presence until Rex left his spot over the heater vent in the adjacent dining room and approached me in search of attention. When Erik turned around himself, he smiled, likely at my ill-fitting clothing.

"You're taller than I am," I said defensively, preempting any commentary he might have had planned. But I didn't want him to think that I was ungrateful, so I added more sincerely, "Thank you for finding this for me."

"You're welcome," he said, making an effort to hide his amusement, saying, "Hang on, I'll make you something warm," and moving toward the coffee maker again, he added absently, "I have decaf, you don't have to worry about feeling wired all night."

I sat down at the eating bar, and although I appreciated his making me something to help me feel more comfortable, I pulled a face at the idea, "Do I want it, though? You always take your coffee black."

Rolling his eyes, albeit good-naturedly, he moved to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of half-and-half and setting it in front of me, "Right. But Nadir doesn't, lucky for you."

Smiling, I leaned on the countertop, feeling that much more content as I did so. I felt encouraged by that sense of wellbeing, and so, nodding toward the picture of the snowman, I asked, "What was Nadir's son's name again?"

"Zach."

"Did Zach draw that for you?"

He smiled, "A few weeks ago. He brought it home from school for me."

"I wish my schoolwork was still that easy," I said thoughtfully, "I'd love it if drawing was my biggest responsibility. I took that shit for granted when I was little."

"What you're doing now will get easier," he laughed, "Trust me, by the time you get to your internship, you'll feel less overwhelmed."

"I always thought the internship would be harder, though."

"It's only as hard as you make it."

"What about you?" I ventured, "Were you the star pupil when you were a student?"

"No, I was a cocky pain in the ass."

"I'm sure you weren't that bad."

"Here," he said, handing me my coffee and smiling distantly in response to my words, but clearly unwilling to continue otherwise.

"Thank you for this...and for coming to rescue me again," I said demurely, and surprising even myself with my boldness, took the chance of reaching across the counter to take his hand. He accepted the gesture - albeit hesitantly, as if he had to convince himself that he was allowed to - leaning forward and moving his thumb over my fingers. He held on to me gently, in that familiar way that reflected our affection for one another. I tried not to read too much into the response then, beyond the simplicity of friendship, but rather tried to appreciate it for what it was. We remained that way for a time - to be honest, I lost track of the fleeting seconds, and I truly didn't care to acknowledge them then. Time passing only meant we were closer to parting, always inevitably in one way or another, and I wanted instead only to keep that moment for myself for as long as I possibly could.

Until suddenly, the room went dark.

We had both been expecting the power to fail at one point that night, but even so I couldn't help the small shriek that escaped me when we were abruptly surrounded by blackness. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, for the emergency lights plugged into a few various outlets to blink on - but before that happened, I was beyond startled. It was irrational, and came with no real explanation, but being forced into darkness with no immediate way to banish it made me unreasonably nervous, to the point of panic; only then did I let go of Erik's hand in favor of wrapping my arms around myself.

"Called it," he said, clearly amused and not at all taken by surprise by what had happened, before seeming to understand my tension and asking, "Are you alright, honey?"

"Fine," I said, a little less confidently than I would have preferred, just barely able to see him in the sparse lighting, "I just think I forgot about the storm."

He came around to my side of the eating bar, gently putting his hand on my shoulder and leading me away from the kitchen, "The heater's going to be off for a while. Let's stay where it's warmer."

I agreed easily; we returned to the living room, and from there he immediately tended the fire once again. It had grown dim since we had been away from it, flickering as if threatening to quit entirely, but Erik brought it back up quickly enough; I assumed it would remain that way for a time, providing us some means of warmth while most other creature comforts were suspended. At any rate, the fire's illumination would be enough to prevent any accidental falls, and I was relieved to think of it as another measure of safety for us. I stood before it, warming my hands and trying to slow my heartbeat from my lingering shock over the outage as Erik walked around the first floor, checking the security of doors and windows and turning off light switches as he went. Seemingly satisfied that everything had been taken care of, he returned to my side.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

I offered a shaky laugh, "I just really don't like losing power, especially when it snows. It gets too quiet, and I can't fix it...I don't know. I've just never handled it well," I explained, and while my words were superficially confident, it was a confidence that I still didn't actually feel, and he saw right through my false bravery.

And so, instead of leaving me alone with my continued uneasiness, he only nodded and directed me to walk closer to the couch in the next instant, sitting down on the floor and pulling me to settle beside him.

Genuinely confused, I narrowed my eyes and asked, "What are we doing?"

"Lay down," he said, doing so himself and seeming to notice my incredulous look as he pressed, "Seriously, try it."

The vague instructions did nothing to appease my curiosity, but I followed suit regardless, lying on the floor and settling close beside him - so close that our shoulders and forearms touched. Now feeling somewhat amused by whatever he was doing in spite of my lingering unease, I decided to humor him, to whatever ends he had in mind, "Alright, now what?"

"Look up at the ceiling...Right, now take a deep breath. Just relax," he instructed, allowing a moment to pass before taking my hand in his as he asked, "Is this helping?"

I smiled, "Actually, it is."

"I do this sometimes, when I know I need to settle down but can't figure out another way to get myself to actually do it," he explained, and I turned to face him then, surprised that he was offering that much information, that he was volunteering something that I was sure wasn't given lightly. I knew that it wouldn't have happened if we weren't entirely alone, and that knowledge made me feel somehow very significant to him beyond the previously established confines of our relationship. I didn't want to lose that feeling.

So I whispered, "Can we stay like this for a while?"

He turned over, resting his head in one hand as he responded, "As long as you need."

I turned to face him then, noting not for the first time that evening how easily we were carrying ourselves with one another, how natural doing so had felt. I had been tired before, but my energy was restored by those compelling words, each of his unaffected gestures - by the excitement that they inspired. I wanted to remain that way as long as possible. And so, I carefully considered my next words before I spoke them, "We should talk."

He laughed, "You say that as if we don't talk all the time."

"We _just_ started talking again," I pointed out, but the flash of regret in his eyes told me to move on quickly, so I continued, "And anyway, I like talking to you, but in a lot of ways I think I don't know you that well."

"Alright," he prompted, though did nothing to hide his wariness.

So I said, as casually as I could manage, "Tell me more about yourself."

He scoffed, "I'm not a very interesting person."

"I doubt that. And anyway, if we're having a sleepover, we need to talk."

He raised an eyebrow at my choice of words, "This is a sleepover now?"

I laughed, "Technically. Besides, there isn't much else to do. I'm not ready to sleep."

"Fine," he agreed - almost stubbornly, I noted with some amusement - after a moment's deliberation, "Pick a topic."

~~oOo~~

I lost track of how long we talked that night, lounging in Erik's living room and speaking in hushed tones about everything and nothing all at once, getting to know each other all over again while calling forth the familiarity we had developed over long weeks in the past. He was absolutely charismatic in those moments on New Year's Eve, speaking more freely as time passed, smiling and calmer than he ordinarily allowed himself to become. And although I knew he was choosing each word he shared with me carefully, that he wasn't going to surrender everything about himself if doing so could be avoided at all, it was clear that he was at least comfortable enough in my company to relinquish much of his guard. Rather, his manner now strongly reflecting the conversations we shared before our falling out, conversations wherein he had seemed as content as he could reasonably come to be. Seeing that aspect of our friendship revived, I wanted to carry on _this_ conversation until I was absolutely out of words, out of breath, if doing so meant he would continue to be granted that peace of mind.

There was a point that I realized I was almost chattering, made giddy by the late hour and affection and unnamed excitement, but I didn't care to correct that behavior, continuing instead with the newest observation I chose to clarify, "Do you have this Iron Maiden shirt because you like the band, or because you got it for free somewhere?"

"I like the band," he responded casually, almost as if his answer should have been obvious long before I posed the question.

"Favorite album?"

He laughed, "Really?"

"Yes."

He made a show of giving me a long-suffering sigh, but considered before he spoke regardless, " _Killers_ , I guess."

"That one's older than me," I mused.

"And me."

That piqued my interest, sobering me just a bit, "What year were you born?"

"Eighty-three," he said, then, almost reflexively, "I guess I'm robbing the cradle with you."

I scoffed, " _Barely_. I was born in eighty-nine. And anyway, that implies more than what we're doing here," then ventured, "Unless you know something that I don't."

"You already know the answer to that," he said, growing steadily more uncomfortable at his obvious mistake, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"We'll move on," I offered, hoping to salvage the easy communication we had before, "Ask me something else."

He nodded, then grinned, "What's your middle name?"

"Alright. But you have to answer that, too."

"We'll see," was his defiant, almost smug response.

"I'm not kidding," I insisted.

"Fine," he sighed, relenting far sooner than I had expected, "What is it?"

"Lynne."

He smiled, his earlier teasing now absent in the expression, "I like that."

"Thank you," I said primly, "Now tell me yours."

He rolled his eyes, but responded easily enough, "Nicholas."

"Really?"

"No, I lied."

I laughed, "Sorry. Erik Nicholas Riley," I said slowly, testing his full name aloud. Sighing, I laid my head on my arm and said, "I really like that."

He smiled again at my approval, now almost sadly, as if he was recalling something else he chose not to share - and, more likely than not, that was exactly the case. But even so, he said nothing more on the subject. Rather, he moved on quickly, seemingly to something more neutral, something at a safer distance, "Why'd you chose UIC for med school?"

He had no way of knowing that this _wasn't_ a neutral topic, but even so I was taken aback by that question - even as it was innocuous enough on the surface - simply for the fact that I hadn't expected him to want to delve that deeply on either side. Certainly not if doing so left him in a position to become vulnerable in turn. And moreover, I was sure that he wouldn't like the answer regardless of being the one to pose the question in the first place; not _all_ of the answer, at any rate. So, attempting to remain nonchalant, feeling a distant guilt at my own hypocrisy as I did so, I responded, "Actually, Raoul and I applied to med schools together. We agreed that we would only go to a university if we both got in."

"Do I want to know why you had that arrangement?" Erik asked, and although his tone was outwardly indifferent, I didn't miss the slight edge that painted the words, a distinctive distaste toward the subject matter that hadn't been present until Raoul's name was mentioned.

"You mean how we knew each other in the first place?" I asked cautiously, and at his affirmative nod I continued, "We grew up together, dated eventually, after my dad died. That was...we were in that relationship for a while."

"Apparently," he murmured, pausing before he leveled another abrupt question at me, "Did you love him?" And although I didn't believe he was trying to act too intrusively, I didn't miss the flash of dread in his eyes, either. I had no idea what to make of that.

"I thought I did," I responded honestly, "But it wasn't the way he wanted. I loved my friend, he loved his girlfriend," I said, and paused, "I guess it worked out, though. We really weren't good for each other. Friendship is fine, but there was no love. We would've done more harm than good trying to convince ourselves that there was."

"Right..." he said, seeming to take a moment to comprehend my words.

"Have you ever been in love?" I asked, moving to face him more directly, to have a better chance to gauge his reaction to the question.

He considered before responding, "I think so."

"What do you mean?" I asked, once again noting something in his eyes, something that told me that there was _far_ more to what he was saying than he was letting on. I couldn't even begin to guess what that was, but I wanted very badly to have clarification, or some sense of hope for us myself, something that would reflect how I felt about him beyond what we had been avoiding since our reconciliation - _anything_.

But before he could speak again, a loud crack split the air outside, echoing in a strange and unnerving way in the unnatural silence, immediately causing us both to jump and sit bolt upright. I recovered quickly enough for my part, but soon realized that Erik wasn't doing as well. Rex had swiftly come up beside him, and in the golden glow of the firelight I could clearly see how badly Erik was shaking, how distant his gaze was in spite of the absolute fear in his eyes - and I realized then that the abrupt sound had triggered his anxiety, and severely so.

"It's alright. Move up here," I said, promptly coaxing him to sit on the couch with the belief that doing so might set him more solidly in reality. I couldn't imagine what the sound had forced him to remember then, nor did I want to - it certainly wasn't anything good. When he did as instructed, I positioned myself close beside him, taking both of his hands in mine as I did so.

He seemed to be trying very hard to calm himself down, sitting tensely and closing his eyes tightly, only managing to say, "I'm sorry. Just...give me a minute. I'm sorry."

"I know, I understand," I said, keeping my voice as soft and steady as possible, "Just try to relax. Is there something you learned in therapy that - "

His sharp nod cut me off, but he was otherwise absolutely silent for a time. Several moments passed, during which his grip on my hands gradually loosened, his own stilled in contrast, and only then did he open his eyes to look at me. Some of the terror there had receded, replaced now by a determined, almost stubborn concentration - but it still hadn't quite vanished altogether yet. And while I had seen those qualities manifest in him before that night - his stubbornness in the face of the struggles he faced in the grave line of work he had chose - they have never been the result of something coming to life so viscerally within him. It seemed to me, heartbreaking though the notion was, that I was witnessing the painful aftermath of something that had truly broken and ravaged this man.

And when he spoke again, I couldn't easily determine whether his words were for me or himself, "It was just a firework," then he laughed humorlessly, "This has happened every year since...since I got back. Some neighbor shoots one off at midnight, and I end up like this. I really am sorry, Christine."

"Don't be sorry. Are you feeling any better?"

"I just wasn't expecting it," he nodded, then rested his head in his hands, giving in to a moment of frustrated resignation as he said, "I wish I could just _let this go_ and forget it."

"How can I help?"

He looked back up, "You're already helping."

"It must be around midnight now," I observed, attempting to draw his mind steadily further away from what had troubled it to begin with.

He turned his head, squinting to read the clock on the far wall in the firelight before confirming, "A bit past..."

I smiled, "Well, then happy New Year, Erik."

He nodded again, but didn't respond immediately - rather, he held my gaze, seeming to argue with himself before finally asking, so softly that I almost didn't hear him, "Can I kiss you?"

And although I was shocked by his request, I had no desire to refuse it.

"Yes," I whispered back, still smiling and now so newly excited by the prospect of him initiating this moment. And even as much as I was sure I needed to, I refused to attempt to completely understand it then, to try and determine whether or not it would be right to do so. Under the light of his boldness, I didn't want those details to matter.

Slowly, he moved closer to me, recapturing my hand firmly in one of his and holding my head with the other. And then he kissed me - tenderly at first, he soon opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, and I responded in kind. And that contact was almost searing, holding a thousand questions in every second that contained it. I didn't want it to end - but all too soon it did, as if he feared what might happen if we continued.

We were both nearly breathless when we parted, and I absently wondered how much further we would have permitted ourselves to fall had he not decided to act otherwise. I could speak for my own consent, but I couldn't imagine what he was thinking then - what he actually wanted. He had said more than once that he wished for more between us, but his unwillingness to act accordingly had always stalled that from actually happening. That he had kissed me at all, had asked me to without needing to be prompted, was as confusing as it was welcomed. Because it seemed that he was always pushing me away, yet drawing me in all at once - that ebb and flow had defined our friendship as strongly as the bonds we shared, the connection that we had steadily discovered, and I had no idea what to do with that truth. I understood that he had only condoned the latter because he wanted so badly for that to be reality, just as much as pushing people away was not something he did lightly or without reason. He did so because he sincerely believed that he _had_ to, that it was the only way to protect himself - to protect me.

And I would have almost been able to be grateful for his selflessness, if it wasn't in fact solely responsible for ceaselessly breaking our hearts.

~~oOo~~

The kiss had ended, that small and traditional token of affection to ring in the new year, yet it was so much more monumental between us; neither of us seemed ready or willing to accept that the physical contact was over - rather, I kept my arms firmly around his shoulders, and in turn he held me closely to himself, maneuvering my legs to rest over his in a haphazard replication of a bridal style; he leaned toward me then, almost as if he was shielding me from the rest of the world. Something had shifted between us in the span of that kiss - something intangible and undefinable, yet somehow all the more significant. He rested his forehead against mine, held my hands tightly as he had before, and I was certain that he felt it too, felt that shift into the purgatory between fondness and love that now surrounded us. Everything about his body language then told me that he meant to escape that impasse somehow, once and for all - that he wanted more.

So I ventured in a whisper, "You don't have to stop, Erik."

"I don't want to," he said resolutely, almost pleadingly - but he still pulled away even so, just enough to face me more directly, seeming almost to have to force himself to follow through with the movement. A moment no longer than a heartbeat passed, and he hesitated before finally admitting, "I don't think I'd be _able_ to…I want _you,_ in every way possible," he said, a flash in his eye that couldn't be described as anything short of carnal desire, and I realized then how badly I wanted it to happen between us now, "I can't even begin to tell you how much," he continued, leaning in toward me again, his lips hovering a breath away from my own, yet never closing the distance.

"Then you can have me. Let's forget everything else and be together tonight."

"Christine - "

" - The decision is yours," I added, "I won't force it, and we don't have to talk about it tonight. But you know where I stand."

He studied me for a time then, holding my attention with intense eyes. I knew he was warring with himself, his conflict made that much more obvious by the tension he exuded, by the hand gripping the fabric of his jeans in an effort to resist, trying to convince himself to object - trying to find a _reason_ to. But I knew it was a battle he would lose; I think a part of us both knew that from the start, and had never been able to consciously consider the possibility until then.

And, finally, a side of him clearly won - seemingly casting aside any reservations he still harbored, he kissed me again, the languid movements of his tongue prompting me to respond. Quickly, so quickly that I was startled by the sudden movement, by the feeling of his arms wrapping securely around me, he pulled me close to him, never breaking the contact of our lips. Holding my head in his hands, he moved us so that he was leaning against the arm of the couch, lounging with me nearly on top of him. I completed the action for him, straddling him before enough time could pass to allow him to believe that I was having second thoughts. Whatever was meant to come of that night, I had no intention of turning back - unless or until he stopped this himself, I was sure it was a long time coming, and I wanted to see it through.

I moved my hand down his chest, overcome with the excitement of sharing intimacy with someone new, reaching lower and lower until my palm was against the unmistakable evidence of his arousal. I grasped him firmly once before letting go, teasing in the hopes of easing some of his tension. He gasped at the contact, but didn't hesitate to continue; rather, he kissed me again, now more soundly as he moved his hands over my body.

I could not say how long that went on before he unexpectedly froze, "Fuck, _fuck_. Wait, we need to stop," he said, and I pulled back enough to look at him more directly, silently prompting him to explain, his voice breathless as he spoke, "I had _no idea_ you were coming here tonight. I don't have a condom, or - "

" - Don't worry about that," I said quickly, and I almost laughed at how absurdly _relieved_ I felt that his reason to stopping us then had been so harmless, "I'm a firm believer in the pill."

He actually did laugh then, clearly appeased, but said nothing in response. Instead, he pulled me into his embrace again, resuming his exploration of my skin, prompting me to do the same. I reveled in the continued feeling of his hands roving over my body, across the exposed skin of my arms, every part of me flushed by then from what we were doing. His hands truly fascinated me - the hands of an artist, an expert in saving lives, capable of nearly anything. And they had become my master, drawing me closer to him in body and mind. He continued exploring, growing more bold as he did so. I felt him running them down my back, to grasp my hips, moving one determinedly between my legs under the fabric of my clothing, his ultimate destination made clear just as I felt one digit inside me, then another...absolutely torturing me with this glimpse of what he could do to me, what else was surely to come as we continued. I didn't want to wait for that moment any longer than necessary, and I hardly needed to give voice to that desire for him to agree.

Kissing him once, firmly, I then moved to unbutton his shirt - but he froze again when more of his skin became exposed, and I stalled my progress at what I saw. Across his chest was a bold tattoo of a blackbird in flight, and the deep black ink somehow conveyed the elegance of that flight in long and wisping lines, in the grays of shadows, as if the bird had been painted on his skin. It was absolutely stunning - he had obviously gone to great lengths to ensure quality work.

"This is beautiful," I whispered, "What does it mean?"

"Transformation, wisdom," he said, breathless and tense as he sat slightly further upright, seeming to want to stop it all then and there by sheer force of how overwhelmed he was, but continued regardless, "Secrecy."

"Why secrecy?"

"I prefer it. And I need it, you know that."

I leaned in close, touching my forehead to his as he had done and saying, "Not with me."

He said nothing to that, but instead accepted the gesture, held fast to me as he said, "Just leave it alone," then, moving in a way that made it clear that we would resume our activities, said fervently, a demand and plea all at once, "Keep going."

I wouldn't argue then, and so I did just that, grinding my hips against his with clear intentions of my willingness to comply, setting to work at undoing the buttons of his shirt as I did so. I hoped to further entice him, to keep him engaged - to make him forget anything else. Slowly, I pushed back the sleeve of his shirt, over his shoulder and arm.

And he allowed that initially, until he realized what was happening as I leaned back just enough to see him more clearly, and all at once his hesitance returned. It was clear why. I had quite literally exposed another part of him that he revealed to no one else as I saw still more tattoos trailing down his left arm - all the way to the wrist, it seemed, and I absently remembered the day we met, wondering even then what was there, what kind of artwork was carefully hidden beneath the material. I knew now - flames, skulls, thorny vines and roses, countless portraits of various objects and symbols wound over and danced on his skin. Some painted a picture of agony, others illustrated a plea for peace of mind. There was ink that was faded, the lines blurry and inexpertly drawn, evidence of their age and likely dating back to his adolescence. Others were newer, as bold as the blackbird over his heart. Yet somehow each piece wove brilliantly into the next, a full-sleeve on his body.

With unnecessary care, I brushed my fingertips over his arm, admiring what I saw and absently wondering what each piece meant to him. My eyes strayed back to the blackbird - that seemed to be the newest, and something in me knew that he had gotten it in reaction to what had happened to him during his deployment. Realizing that, I took great care in pushing back the fabric that covered his right side - the same side as the damage on his face.

As I did so, he had remained almost entirely motionless, acting more akin to a threatened animal than anything else, as if he was waiting for some damning reaction on my part. But when I finally revealed the rest of his body, the startling and graphic evidence of his burns, he flinched away from me almost violently. I actually had to take his hands in mine to keep him from fleeing entirely.

"We should stop," he said, his voice strained.

"We can. It's alright Erik, we can stop this. But will you tell me why?" I asked softly, carefully, knowing that every word I said could mean the difference between our coming together and utter disaster.

"I don't...want you to see this."

"I've seen your face - "

"- It's worse," he snapped, then repeated slowly, more deliberately, "It gets worse."

I sat up straighter again, now able to face him directly, silently reassuring him and confirming his consent all at once. He closed his eyes - albeit hesitantly, if not altogether grudgingly - seeming to need a breath to steel his resolve. But eventually, he nodded succinctly, and that was the extent of his willingness to communicate further then. And moved the shirt away from him completely; I looked closely at his body, at the skin ravaged so permanently by fire, by the inevitable violence of warfare. It was a stark echo of what had certainly been a graphic and excruciating injury. Seeing it then, I couldn't help but wonder how he had survived it at all - how he hadn't succumbed to the initial blast or the resulting injuries. It was likely only because he was strong, in will and in spirit - he would have denied it had I said to him outright, but I knew that much to be true, and I was so _immensely grateful_ that he was. I couldn't imagine not having the opportunity to meet him, to know him as I did now.

Gently stroking the marred and uneven skin, I asked, "Is it still painful?"

"It's not painful," he shook his head, only then opening his eyes as he explained, "It's...odd, almost numb. I don't know how to describe it."

"Erik," I breathed, "I'm so sorry."

He chose to ignore that, clearly bitter and yet feigning nonchalance as he shrugged, "I guess I'm lucky it wasn't worse. It could've gone down to my hand. I could've lost my arm..."

"You could have lost your _life_ ," I said emphatically, wrapping my arms more securely around his shoulders, as if my doing so could protect him from further harm,"I'm glad you didn't."

He paused, winding his arms around me in return and seeming to weigh his words before responding, "I think I am, too," he said, pulling away just enough to kiss my forehead affectionately and adding, "Tonight I am."

"Tell me what you want to do now," I said softly, knowing that I would accept whatever decision he made regarding how we would move forward - it was now entirely up to him.

Erik held my gaze for a time, but said nothing more. Rather, he kissed me again, now almost forcefully, as if trying to convince himself that he was in fact still alive, that we were together then - that what was happening was real. And his decision was made, clearly given to me as he moved himself flush against me and parted my lips once again with his tongue. Maneuvering to keep from breaking the contact, as he had done earlier, I was the one to lean backward this time, pulling him on top of me. For better or worse, I didn't want to wait any longer.

Moving back just long enough to study me, he seemed to be taking in every line of my body with his eyes, trailing his hands down my side as he did so. Once he reached the hem of my borrowed shirt, he pulled it over my head, carelessly discarding it and once again allowing his hands to wander once the inconvenient barrier of material was gone. Despite the chill just beginning to creep into the air, our bodies were heated against one another, burning and intoxicating all at once. Any remaining clothing we had on was shed and abandoned quickly then, and suddenly there was only skin on skin, heartbeat against heartbeat. His scarred skin and thin frame grounded me to reality, when otherwise I knew I would have been lost to the force of those moments. Lips hovering close to mine, I felt his breath against my skin, shallow and elated and awed as he lingered, seeming just as lost in that heady sensation as I was.

He kissed me slowly as I wrapped my legs around his waist, before he moved just enough to look at me again - but this time, instead of holding me with the questioning gaze I was sure I'd find, I saw something else there, a flash that I had been wishing to see more than anything else. He showed me his desire, his tentative excitement - and I felt that excitement for my part, the thrill of sharing my body with someone new, someone I was slowly yet irrevocably realizing just how much I loved. And I knew he couldn't say the same words aloud in return - no easier than I could extend them; he wouldn't allow himself to open his heart to that singular act of vulnerability. Not then. But I also knew that I wasn't mistaken when I saw the love in his eyes returned to me, dedicated to me. And for the moment, that was enough. I wound my arms around his shoulders and pulled him close to me again, kissing him in assurance that I understood his unspoken pleas.

"Are you sure you want this?" he whispered when we parted.

"Of course I am. Are _you_?" I asked gravely as I swept the hair away from his forehead.

He took a deep breath before responding, but I believed the sincerity in his words, "Absolutely. I want to hold you," he said, moving closer to me, prompting my arms to wind that much tighter around him, "I want to feel you around me," he continued, finally entering me then, and I gasped at the movement, the fullness I felt with him inside of me as he whispered, almost pleadingly, "I want to love you."

"Then love me," I returned quickly, moving now to encourage him to respond, to finally inspire a rhythm to form between us.

And we made love - steadily, we learned one another's bodies, sharing those moments as if nothing apart from our coupling mattered, as if nothing else existed beyond that singular affair. He moved in me with more passion than I had ever been shown, raised my own desire in turn until I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The dying flames in the fireplace danced in his eyes as he looked so intently into mine, the firelight throwing shadows on his face and illuminating the undamaged skin. In those moments, I saw him as he once was, saw him without the pain he carried; and my heart ached for him, for what he had so unwillingly given up and endured. But I forced those thoughts away. He didn't need my pity, and it served no purpose - we had both determined to forget the world that night, and soon enough I was lost once again in the rhythm of our bodies moving together, of hands clutching skin, of stolen breaths and fevered kisses that held a thousand promises in their simplicity.

There were moments when he moved slowly, with impossible patience and determination the face of our shared ardor; the seductive pressure of him inside me, of his hips rolling and pitching against mine was almost overwhelming at times - beyond words or gestures to make any of it comprehensible. I reveled in every moment. More than once, I clutched at him so hard that I worried I might hurt him, yet he never complained, never pulled back. Instead, he continued on, and I responded to every wave of yearning and lustful movement he extended, driving each of us to the edge before retreating just enough to draw the moment out, alluringly extending the amount of time spent in that sweet sort of torture. We kissed, we held each other close, we lost ourselves in the other.

I knew the moment he reached his climax, felt his entire body tense with its force; it seemed as if he held his breath as he closed his eyes tightly before he kissed me again, this time hard and deeply, his tongue moving against mine as if doing so would keep us both from crying out. It was almost a moment of desperation on his behalf, done so as if holding on to any last shred of hope for keeping those last moments close between us for as long as possible. As I returned his fervor, I was only dimly aware that he was holding onto me almost painfully, until I felt the throbbing of his release, and that sent me over the edge in turn. I had never experienced a moment like that with anyone else - had never felt my heart so full of the singular brand of affection I carried for him, and I held fast to him, so long as doing so held off the receding of those waves as long as possible.

~~oOo~~

When it was done, neither of us spoke immediately, each breathless and absolutely lost in that nearly blinding aftermath of what we had just shared - what we had just _done_. It was absolutely surreal, almost unbelievable, and an irrational part of me feared that if I said or did anything wrong, it would all disappear around me, snuffed out like a candle in the wind. I didn't know what the following day would bring us, what crossing the line from mutual attraction to physical intimacy would mean to our friendship, but for the moment I wouldn't allow myself to care. It wasn't worth it then to worry - it would only serve to tarnish this occasion.

He moved after a time, reaching carefully to brush my disheveled hair away from my forehead. I pulled him in for another kiss, and his response now was with affection, the lust we had just shared giving way to something more gentle, yet more concrete just the same.

"We should get dressed," he said ruefully, then breathed a laugh, "I don't want to move, but it'll get too cold to stay like this for much longer."

I nodded, not wanting to agree but understanding the necessity of doing so. He helped me up, got both our clothing in order before we finally separated. He left the living room with the intention of finding blankets, giving me the chance to quickly get ready to go to sleep.

He set the blankets on the couch when he returned, and only then did I experience any dread at the prospect of just _how_ to behave with him now, all things considered.

"Will you stay with me?" I asked, wanting to test the water between us somehow, hastening to add, "You don't have to if - "

" - I want to stay, Christine," he assured me quickly, taking my hand in his as he led me to lie down with him back on the couch, "You were just brave enough to ask first."

I sighed as I settled in beside him, more relieved than I thought was possible that he would be sleeping next to me that night, that I would wake up with him so close to me. Reaching for a blanket, Erik covered us both and carefully took me in his arms once again, lying beside me so that I was securely between him and the back of the couch. I felt safe there, warm and loved, and there was no where else I wanted to be then. I smiled at him, and he returned the expression easily enough, a genuine glance even as I saw the first hints of fear enter his eyes. What exactly he feared, I could not say - whether it was my regret in the face of what we had done, or a desperate and immediate demand on my part for more between us remained to be seen; neither would be the case, yet I could assume with certainty that he wouldn't be so easily convinced on either account. But I pushed those thoughts aside as well. We agreed not to go down that path tonight, and it seemed prudent to keep to that mutual understanding.

So I whispered, instead, "I love your smile. I wish I saw it more."

He sighed, though it was a weary sound, and said kindly enough in return, "It's late. Try to sleep, honey."

I nodded and moved to hold him closer, forcing everything else out of my mind as I did so. Doubt didn't belong there; doubt and fear confusion couldn't be permitted to mar this night, to cloud the true nature of his intentions or regard. And they were clear enough, even as so much remained unspoken - in the end, it _was_ Erik that initiated the kiss goodnight, Erik that held onto me tightly, reassuringly, as if he truly loved me as I had come to love him. And I returned those gestures sincerely, hoping that he would somehow understand why I did so.

Soon enough, we had both fallen asleep to the sound of the crackling fire and that singular calm of the world that only accompanied the soft snowfall following a heavy storm.


	15. Dust in the Wind, Interlude

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back, my darlings! Thank you to everyone reading and reviewing and generally just being so damn awesome! Your kindness keeps me motivated and I sincerely appreciate the feedback and encouragement :D The title of this interlude is based on the Kansas song of the same name. Keep an eye out for a Tuesday/Wednesday update (depending on assignments at school), and most importantly, enjoy!_

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Interlude 3 - Dust in the Wind

Erik

Part of my rationalization for starting to drink again - alongside the far too many _other_ accompanying issues - was the desperate need to sleep. And that aspect of my decision rang true enough. I was overstressed by my transfer out of the surgical service, and beyond that I was simply exhausted. The fear of that state of mind affecting my livelihood was enough for me to attempt to justify my actions, irresponsible though they were. But there was another level to that decision; sleep in itself contained its own set of problems, brought more restlessness of body and mind than I could control on my own, and with that restlessness came vivid and recurring nightmares. I couldn't find a way out of either problem, and when I was in complete denial of what I was doing, my only goal was to obliterate every semblance of consciousness possible, to black out and fall into an absolutely dreamless void, so long as doing so meant I could actually rest somehow.

But I couldn't function in that capacity for long, and now that my mind was clearer, the nightmares I sought to fend off had returned again.

It was almost always the same pattern; if I wasn't hearing the echoes of screaming and fear and agony from what I saw in the ER, then I was taken back to Afghanistan, to the day of the bombing that almost cost me my life. The two themes seemed to switch off sporadically, warring with each other for dominance while simultaneously taunting me with their clarity. And more often lately, scenes from that warzone Hell overpowered any remnants of the more recent past in Chicago; and those scenes were terrifying, likely because they were so horrifically warped beyond what had _actually_ happened there.

I never had the chance to escape the site of the bombing, but in my dreams I'm always running in spite of my injuries, fleeing from a thousand more threats, a thousand unknowns. I'm running toward something I cannot see - whether that will be freedom or salvation is always unclear - yet I know I have to get there. I'll die if I don't, just like everyone else. I know this isn't reality - there's no possible way it can be reality. But the fear remains, and therefore my need to escape is so powerful that I can't convince myself otherwise. And as I run, I'm not alone, nor am I among my friends any longer; rather, shadows stalk me, catch up and morph into skeletons reaching out to me, strangling me, asking why I let this happen to them. They're the bodies of my unit - bodies stripped of what once made them human, their souls, their compassion. Everyone lost in the blast returns, and they're angry. And I dream of them as if they're actually seeking me out, their captain that survived, as they rage from somewhere beyond this realm. I am always certain that they were reaching out for me, waiting for the right moment to take ahold and pull me further into the darkness, tormenting me.

Haunting me.

I don't actually see ghosts. The faces I see exist only in my mind, in my memories as they manifest in those appalling images. They aren't real, but rather fragmented reflections of what they used to be. I _know_ that - they can't hurt me, but the guilt and fear that clutched at me that day has been relentless ever since, casting aside any semblance of logic when night falls and I've become more vulnerable to it all. They haunt me just the same, dance before my mind's eye until I'm unsure if what I'm seeing is a flicker of the realities that have long since passed, or some feverish reincarnation, imagined and distorted over pain and time. That was true for me every time the nightmares returned - as such, I dreaded sleep as much as I needed it, and that was a truth I couldn't escape. It was only when I was drinking that everything was numbed, the nightmares subdued enough for me not to feel them so viscerally. Without that, I simply had to endure it on my own, without aid of anything outside of myself - for better or worse, I lost that advantage when I regained my sobriety.

I woke up at some point in the middle of the night with those thoughts in mind - followed immediately by the sudden realization that I hadn't had a nightmare then. If I did dream at all, I didn't remember it, and that in itself was significant. I _remembered_ my nightmares; they were too vivid for me not to. But that night I had been granted a reprieve, and I couldn't ignore the one factor that was different from any other night. Whether or not it was a fluke, I couldn't easily determine. And honestly, I didn't want to think about it long, didn't want to know if it was just some cruel coincidence that I had been relatively undisturbed as I slept. All I _could_ say with absolute certainty was that I hadn't had those dreams when Christine was beside me.

And I almost wanted to cry out - now frustrated beyond words - when I realized that. Because it would be so much more painful to move forward now, so much harder to remember all the reasons why what we were doing was wrong, why _I_ was wrong for permitting it - for enjoying it. I was so selfish, so unbelievably swept away by her, that I didn't want that night to end. She was still asleep beside me, and although the space we shared didn't offer much by way of comfort, she seemed to be sleeping as peacefully as I had been only moments ago. I was as grateful for that as I was by her presence. I reached for her then, tightened my arms around her as I had when we first settled alongside each other. And I just held her, losing myself in those quiet moments and taking in as much comfort as I could from her closeness. Only then was I able to calm myself enough to drift off once more, determined to let everything else wait until the morning - I knew I would drive myself insane if I didn't.

The dimming firelight infiltrated the blackness that surrounded us, casting unsteady shadows throughout the otherwise darkened living room. It was almost consoling, and distantly, I felt more at home there than I been able to since I moved in. Christine had given me that - whether or not she meant to, whether she had known at all what she'd done, she had granted me something that no one else had been able to. And as I started to fall asleep again, I was nearly overwhelmed by my affection for her, by how much calmer I felt with her in my arms.

"I love you," I whispered, kissing her forehead and certain that she couldn't hear me - I know I wouldn't have been brave enough to say those words aloud had she been able to.


	16. If I Loved You

**Author's Note:** _Soooo...that sure was some smutty damn smut, amirite? Ha, kidding, kidding. Seriously, I'm glad everyone seemed to enjoy the, erm, activities at the end of the last chapter. Thank you to all that have read and reviewed, and thank you to those of you that sent me additional messages - both here and on the Tumbles - with further support, kindness, and general awesomeness! This week's update is pretty lengthy, because clearly I'm incapable of brevity - but that's okay! Erik and Christine at least to get to have some fun. For a while... O_o That said, please let me know how it turned out, or any other thoughts, ideas, predictions, or whatever else y'all might have. I love to hear from you all! Also, a note on the poem at the beginning - as I have been consistently providing dates for the various publications I use in this story, I of course attempted to do so for this chapter's intro-piece; however, I had to use the approximate symbol (~) on the year in question, because it was not included in the textbook I found the poem in, nor could I pinpoint it in my own research. So if anyone does know what year "That Silent Evening" was published, please let me know so I can make the correction. :) Finally, the title from this chapter comes from the song in Rogers and Hammerstein's "Carousel" of the same name, and is terribly fitting, if I do say so. Welp, I believe that's everything. Remember to review, and most importantly, enjoy!_

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Chapter 11 - If I Loved You

Erik

 _I will go back to that silent evening_

 _When we lay together and talked in low, silent voices_

 _While outside slow lumps of soft snow fell_

 _Hushing as they got near the ground_

 _With a fire in the room, in which centuries of tree went up_

 _In continuous ghost-giving-up_

 _Without a crackle, into the morning light_

 _Not until what hastens went slower did we sleep_

 _When we got home we turned and looked back_

 _At our tracks twining out of the woods_

 _Where the branches we brushed against let fall_

 _Puffs of sparkling snow, quickly, in silence_

 _Like stolen kisses, and where the_ scritch scritch scritch

 _Among the trees, which is the sound that dies_

 _Inside the sparks from the wedge when the sledge_

 _Hits it off center telling everything inside_

 _It is fire, jumped to a black branch, puffed up_

 _But without arms and so to our lonesome eyes_

 _And yet also - how could be know this? - Happy!_

 _In shape of chickadee, lying still in snow_

 _Not iron-willed, like railroad tracks, willing_

 _Not to meet until Heaven, but here and there_

 _Making slubby kissing stops in the field_

 _Our tracks wobble across the snow in their long scratch_

 _Everything that happens here is really little more, if even that_

 _Than a scratch, too._

 _Words, in our mouths are almost ready, already_

 _To bandage the one whom the_ scritch scritch scritch

 _Meaning if how, when, we might lose each other_

 _Scratches, scratches, scratches from this moment to that_

 _Then I will go back to that silent evening_

 _When the past just managed to overlap the future, if only by a trace_

 _And the light doubles and shines_

 _Through the dark the sparkling that Heavens the Earth_

\- " _That Silent Evening" - Galway Kinnell, ~1960_

Not enough time had passed to bring the sunrise to the world when I woke again later, but the power at least was turned back on by then. In fact, it was very likely that the abrupt and unexpected sound of the furnace switching on and the steady light in the stairwell had roused me, startling me awake when only moments before the house had been completely silent and dark. That sudden contrast, coupled with the semi-consciousness of first awakening, was disorienting at first; I had to lie still for a time to remember exactly where I was, and _why_ I was there to begin with. It was only when I felt the telltale stiffness in my neck and shoulders that I realized that I was still on the couch, that I had fallen asleep there in the early hours of the new year with Christine in my arms. When I turned more toward her, I was grateful to note that she was still sleeping soundly beside me, in spite of our having disengaged from our earlier embrace at some point as we slept.

I remembered then exactly what had happened between us before we fell asleep, and for just an instant I allowed a slight and satisfied grin to come across my features before I forced it away again. In spite of what had happened, in spite of how much we clearly wanted each other, I had no right to enjoy her company as I had in the preceding hours - but even so, that didn't mean I _hadn't,_ and it would likely be a while before I forgot the details of our coming together. Somewhere between our first meeting all those months ago and the night we finally promised to forget the rest of the world and actually slept together, I had fallen very much in love with Christine. And if I had only sensed it before, now I knew it without a single doubt - there was no denying it, no coming back from that knowledge unscathed. But if I was being completely honest, I didn't _want_ to deny it, nor did I want to relinquish that feeling any sooner than was absolutely necessary. Regardless of my mind screaming at me to be responsible and just let it go, the realization felt right; I wanted to hold on to that love, to guard it forever.

But in the end, I knew there wasn't anything I could _actually_ do about it, either. I wanted a relationship - I wanted her to be mine and only mine, to hope that somehow we could build a future with each other. And, admittedly, I wanted to dare to hope that she might be the one to save me from myself once and for all, selfish though that was. But that was unreasonable, bordering on unhealthy. And all dreaming aside, my life still almost completely lacked stability - my _mind_ lacked stability. My recent recovery was tentative, even precarious, and I knew well enough by then not to trust it with too much so soon after recapturing it. I believed that everything I had held onto months ago as evidence of my unreliable state of being still rang true, and I would do well to remember that now - especially when it was so tempting to act otherwise. As such, I simply couldn't give her what she wanted, what we both wanted. I just couldn't be the man that she deserved - because she deserved someone strong, a future to dream of, and I knew that all I could offer her would be uncertainty and pain. As much as I loved her, I couldn't do that to her.

But I _did_ love her - that fact was as much of a curse as it was a blessing. As I held her in my arms that early morning, growing steadily more restless and unable to fall asleep again quickly in the wake of my increasing guilt, I knew that I loved her.

And that was terrifying.

The fire had gone out at some point, but rather than feeling compelled to bring it back to life, instead I wanted to go somewhere else in the house altogether. It was more than likely that the power wasn't going to go out again - by then, it seemed that the worst of the storm had passed, and we probably wouldn't have to worry about another outage, not that day at the very least. I judged then that it was reasonable enough to not have to camp-out downstairs to stay warm anymore, and just because Christine hadn't woken up yet didn't mean she wasn't feeling the effects of our sleeping arrangement. She would likely feel as sore as I was once she woke up, and I hated to do that to her longer than necessary. And so, with her continued comfort in mind as much as my own, I determined it was high time to move and settle us down again in my own bedroom.

Sighing - wanting to put off actually having to rise as long as possible - I got up as slowly and quietly as I could, carefully attempting not to wake her up as I went to adjust the furnace in preparation for moving upstairs. I was successful on that front, but not upon returning - Christine woke the moment I entered the room again, likely from the abrupt movement in the space and the lack of another body beside her.

I immediately regretted my decision to walk around without at least waking her first and letting her know what was happening; it hadn't been my intention, but I knew by the clear look of apprehension in her eyes as she sat up and looked around that her first thought upon waking was that I was trying to leave. She believed that I was trying to skulk away from her, even as we had been so close just hours before. And outwardly, it seemed very obvious that I could have used her simply for my own physical benefit. _A one-night stand_ , came the distant, bitter thought, and I didn't want to consider that idea further then. It certainly wasn't what I meant to happen, but I'd given her more than enough mixed signals as proof to the contrary. And so, flooded with guilt at the situation, I knelt beside her, hoping to comfort her on _that_ point at the very least.

"I wasn't leaving you, sweetheart," I explained softly, tucking her hair behind her ear and hoping that she could hear the truth in my voice.

She was silent for a moment before saying, "I wasn't sure if you meant to."

I sighed, but chose to comment no further then, saying instead, "The power's back. We should go upstairs, it'll be warmer there. And probably more comfortable."

"Can I still stay with you? Or - "

" - I'd prefer having you with me," I assured quickly, honestly.

She smiled at that, though her eyes still held the veil of sleep; noting that, I chose not to say anything more just then. Nothing too terribly important, at any rate. She might not even remember much from these faint moments in the light of the following day, and I didn't want to overwhelm her before she had even had the chance to fully wake up and collect her thoughts. God only knew how chaotic _mine_ had been then; it wouldn't have been fair at all to bring her down into that particular sort of misery with me. And so, I focused on making our way slowly back up to my bedroom instead, leading her up the staircase and certain that the expanse of the second level of the house was warm enough by then for us to settle down comfortably again, now more so with the added space that the bed offered.

Only when we were lying together once more did she speak, "What time is it?"

I turned, looking awkwardly over my shoulder at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on the nightstand, and replied, "Almost five. We can still sleep for a while."

"Good," she sighed contentedly, closing her eyes again before saying, so softly that I almost didn't hear her in spite of the silence around us, "I'm glad I'm here with you, Erik."

I held her somehow that much closer, feeling as much pain as a distant serenity as I responded, "So am I."

And for the time being, we existed halfway between one sort of relationship and another in the darkness of my bedroom, pulled once more down into sleep before reality forced us apart again - because now we were so far beyond friendship, yet not quite able to set off on the road to the heartache that my own shortcomings had guaranteed. But I would stubbornly remind myself to be grateful for even that much, at least for the time being; I wanted to hold on to that relative peace for as long as possible, wanted to keep her heart as close to mine as I could. And so I held her in my arms as she slept, as I drifted away myself, dreading what would happen when the sun rose and we had no choice but to face the day ahead of us.

~~oOo~~

Light streaming through a crack in the heavy curtains woke me up for the third and final time later that morning, impossibly bright light that only manifested itself when a heavy snowfall rendered the world it covered almost blinding in its intensity. That light reflected off of _everything_ then, even as I had taken measures to block it out, and I knew that it would remain until some of it had melted off or been taken away by plows and shovels. Until that happened, I was perfectly content to stay in the dark, only distantly annoyed by how much of the _ridiculously_ intense illumination had managed to spill into my room - yet still not too intent on actually fixing it, either.

But, to my dismay, I _did_ have to get up, and far sooner than I would have preferred. Rex had been cooped up longer than he was used to, and would need to be let out back at least for a few minutes. And so, groaning as I stretched my still-stiff muscles, I left the bed and brought the dog downstairs. I remembered to take the morning dose of my antidepressant before returning to wait for him by the back door, and quickly headed back to my bedroom once my tasks were complete and he had settled again on one of the heater vents. By then, I had pretty much woken up - and although I was still just tired enough to feel marginally unsteady, there was also no way I would be able to fall back asleep. But Christine still slept peacefully, and I took the opportunity then to lay beside her and take her in my arms. It was a habit that I was quickly becoming too fond of, and a habit I knew I would have to forget soon enough. But for the time being, it seemed reasonable to pretend that everything would remain the same as it was the night before, the same as it was that morning. Because the alternative was still too painful to consider, even as I had resolved myself by then to make my stance on the matter clear when the moment was unavoidable. We couldn't continue on romantically - but I wasn't about to withhold contact or send her away any sooner than I had to, either.

She woke up eventually, slowly rejoining the waking world, and turned to face me after a time. She returned my embrace even before she actually opened her eyes, such an endearing gesture that likely would have been taken for granted under any other circumstances; and, indulging myself once again, I kissed her forehead as I had done throughout the night, simply for the fact that I knew I could, that I loved her so much.

"Good morning," I said softly.

"How'd you sleep."

I almost laughed at that - she had no way of knowing that I had slept _far_ better that night alongside her than I had in years spent alone. But even so, her question caught me somewhat off-guard at the same time. In the end, it turned out that I hadn't dreamt at all, and while I knew that the phenomenon was likely a very agreeable coincidence, it was also something of a luxury to consider that she was directly responsible. Even so, I hadn't dreamt, hadn't had a single nightmare, and that in itself was an immense relief to me - a break from myself that I sorely needed and had no idea how to bring forth on my own.

But I couldn't even begin to consider just how to articulate _any_ of that to her; to be honest, it barely made sense to me, and so instead I only said in response, "Just fine. I'm sorry I had to wake you up earlier, though."

"I'm not complaining," she shrugged, "I liked being up here with you."

And while I believed then that she wanted to continue down the path of that conversation, I hoped to redirect her attention by asking, "Are you hungry? Or do you want coffee, or - "

" - Don't worry about that now," she said lightly, "Let's just be lazy for a little while."

I actually did laugh then, "Alright, that sounds fine."

"I guess it stopped snowing," she said, nodding toward the stream of sunlight that I still hadn't bothered to block off.

"Yeah, but it came down pretty heavy."

"Does that mean I won't be leaving anytime soon?" she asked, though I was certain she already knew the answer as she nestled further under the blankets.

But still, I indulged her, "Basically, yes."

She rested her head against my shoulder, "I don't mind if you don't."

I didn't respond directly, but rather pulled her close to me, firm hands grasping her abruptly enough to elicit a surprised squeal from her that was as devastating as it was charming. Before I could lose the nerve, I took the chance to kiss her then, both relieved and emboldened when she returned it easily - if not ardently - and deepening the contact as we had done together so many times only hours ago. No further words passed between us when we parted - what came to be was a relaxed, somehow familiar sort of silence that I wasn't necessarily used to yet, but one that I didn't mind all the same. We lounged that way for a while, our shared quietness eventually evolving into a state of not _quite_ talking. Half-murmurs passed between lips remaining tauntingly close to one another, on the edge of soundlessness, yet we never entirely restored the dominating silence for long.

Altogether, I couldn't deny that it was comfortable, that this arrangement felt more natural than the more subdued and controlled interactions we had resigned ourselves to so often before. If she had even the smallest inkling of how it would all end, she gave no indication of it. But then, I knew she wasn't entirely ignorant, either - and her unspoken awareness tinged our closeness with a pain I couldn't overlook. Yet regardless, I put it out of mind for the time, once again almost forcefully reminding myself that the conversation could still wait, that I was worrying myself long before I needed to.

We left the comfort of the bed eventually, grudgingly finding it necessary after an immeasurable time to go off in separate directions to get ready for the day - although our doing so was a half-hearted practice of deeply ingrained habits at best. We changed our clothes, though for Christine's part, she managed to convince me to hold on to the Iron Maiden shirt for a while longer, and I could see her logic well enough - her clothing from the night before was...alluring, for lack of a better term; and as such, while I didn't want to even begin to consider what her male peers would've been thinking about her had she made it to the party, I also understood that she definitely wouldn't be comfortable in them throughout the rest of the day, either. Having her in my house, wearing my clothes as if she somehow belonged to me was painful to witness, but I couldn't bring myself to complain. No matter what the circumstances were, she looked beautiful, and I was grateful for her company, at the very least.

There was a point - as we wandered around attempting to actually wake up and function - that Christine had settled herself in front of the mirror over my dresser in an attempt to fix her hair into a French-braid. But the setup I had was as far from a vanity as it could get, and instead of having any success, she stood awkwardly in her attempt to control her long hair. Seeing her frustration from across the room, I stepped up behind her to help.

"I can never figure out how to do this right," she sighed, glancing at me in the mirror, then asked, "How do you know how to do it?"

"Something I picked up a while back," I muttered, averting my eyes and hoping that she would drop the subject. I wasn't upset with her, but rather that my words resulted in another misstep on my part; I had learned to tie a French-braid when I was in foster care, when the older girls used the rest of us as their miniature servants. We either learned those skills, or faced their annoyance and the likelihood of being ignored indefinitely for our noncompliance - and while all of that was comparatively innocent enough, to a discarded child it was something to be dreaded and avoided at all costs. Those weren't the best years of my childhood whatsoever, but in hindsight that arrangement truly wasn't the worst aspect of it, and when I stood behind Christine that morning so many years later, I was almost grateful for that random skill - so much so that it was almost laughable, all things considered. But there was no way in hell I would let her in on that part of my past. She would only ask further questions, and they would certainly be ones that I wouldn't be willing to answer - not then, nor any time soon.

But to my relief, she only said, "Lucky for me, then," and added as I finished up and she pulled my arms around her, once again forcing me to meet her eyes in the mirror, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said, and pulled her closer to me, this time holding her gaze, a fleeting yet intense flash passing between us then.

We were still, in many ways, lost in the force of what we had shared the night before, and we seemed to be doing absolutely nothing to find our way out again; every gesture we dared grew steadily more familiar, made that much more profoundly intimate by the shifting dynamics of our relationship. I knew without having to be reassured that we were both starkly aware of every stolen glance, every brief pause before ultimately choosing to act in one another's regard. It was heady, almost crushing, and it made me reckless. But for the moment, I couldn't bring myself to care - nor, it seemed, could she. Rather, we simply took each new step together, heedless of the grander picture. _Forgetting_ everything else _._ Once again, I didn't want to consider the alternative that waited in the wings for us.

On impulse - in part to clear my negative thoughts, in part to captivate her just as strongly - I moved slowly to kiss her neck. I was actively testing the waters then of what else I was brave enough to try, and she tightened her hold on me for an instant in return, before turning in my arms to face me directly. Standing up taller, just enough to position herself only a breath away from me, she kissed me, a firm and unquestionable touching of our lips. I reciprocated the gesture eagerly, with no small amount of greed on my part.

 _So selfish_...Among the worst of my misdeeds, I was selfish and I damn well knew it.

And incredibly brash.

I was only distantly aware of what I was doing when I pulled her backward quickly, breaking the contact of our lips long enough to confirm that she followed willingly. And by the time we made it back to the bed, by the time I realized that my legs had come into contact with the mattress, I couldn't find the strength, or perhaps the cowardice in myself to protest, or even outright _stop_ as I felt us both easing down. We slowly fell together, and in so many more ways than one - until we held each other again, returning to the kiss that seemed to never be enough. And whether she had initiated that movement - that pull into that devastating recurring embrace - or if I was the one making that silent request, I couldn't say. Nor could I bring myself then to halt the swift progression toward what followed.

I was on my back, grasping at her arms to keep her steady as she had positioned herself over me, yet not quite touching any other part of my body then as she did so. And that wasn't nearly enough - I pulled her closer to me, prompting her to straddle me as she had the night before, and she complied with a breathy laugh. The soft ringing of her voice made my head swim, and I kissed her again, more soundly this time, gripping her hands in mine in a silent plea for her to stay with me, to get lost in those moments again, as much as we possibly could.

Because I felt the clock ticking against me then, felt that our time was running out, as if plunging us toward some fatal and inevitable moment. And, for the chance of a committed relationship, that would likely become the case. I didn't want to consider that I might lose her again - _what_ I was going to lose in the aftermath - or that she would almost certainly react negatively to another rejection on my part. I didn't want to have to know firsthand if she would be the one to walk out this time, if only to spare her own heart. So I just kissed her, moved my mouth with hers until I felt her tongue against mine, felt the rising heat between our bodies that told me that it would take a stronger force than I could conjure on my own to separate us then.

"Tell me you want this," I whispered with breathless urgency between kisses.

"You _know_ I do, Erik," she returned emphatically, though not impatiently, pulling back just enough to cut away at my last shreds of apprehension as she continued, "Just like last night. We don't have to worry about it now. Nothing else matters."

I could only nod at her words, in the next breath losing any and all semblance of acknowledgement that might have remained in my mind for our lives beyond those moments. All I knew then was the feeling of her body so close to my own as she ground her hips against mine once, a threat and a promise all at once, and my body immediately responded to that beloved torture.

I was dimly aware of the shedding of clothing, the blood rushing from my mind to more vital locations elsewhere. I was dizzy, drunk with desire at the feeling of her on top of me; quickly enough, more of our skin became exposed, until finally it was just our bodies before one another. A part of me wanted to shy away again, to hide the tattoos and the scars and every bit of shameful evidence of my past that she could possibly see. But a stronger part understood that doing so was futile where Christine was concerned. She had given me her acceptance the night before, and so many times before then, in _far_ more ways than I deserved. So I continued on, whispering a final assurance of her consent and reveling in her smiling, affirmative response. I tightened my grip on her hands when she positioned herself on top of me, when I was finally inside of her again. I moved to deepen the contact and brought us back to a steady rhythm in the next instant, one that I had to mindfully control to keep from overpowering either of us too soon. If I didn't, I knew I would lose myself before we had truly begun, and I wasn't willing to sacrifice a single moment with her.

Nearly blinded by the end - by my release and the tightening of her own body around me in response - I could barely concentrate on the feeling of her in my arms as she sank into me, the pounding of my heart second only to the sound of each of us trying to catch our breath. Coming to bed with her again had happened so fast, our headlong lovemaking stealing countless moments away that morning, but I couldn't bring myself to regret it all happening again. As we gradually came back to the world, she looked up at me, and for a moment I remembered the first time I had seen those eyes, had been so mesmerized by them even then, long before I knew her - long before I thought it was possible to fall in love with anyone. She smiled at me then, and my breath was stolen away once more as I held her that much closer, unwilling to forfeit that moment to any other force or notion of responsibility.

It was _so goddamn impossible_ not to fall even further in love with her.

~~oOo~~

Although we were both hesitant to do so, there finally came a point that we simply couldn't keep justifying continuing to hole ourselves upstairs for much longer. The morning had slowly bled away, and though neither of us were required elsewhere, there was no actual reason to hide away, either. So we agreed upon that point and grudgingly rose from the bed, dressed slowly, almost leisurely shortly thereafter. Christine smiled at me as she made off with my shirt again, and I couldn't help returning the expression, felt the remaining levity in her humorous interactions with me; I felt that airiness between us even as the dread I had felt earlier began to seep back into my consciousness, slowly fighting to overtake anything and everything else we had done and crushing all the good I wanted to save in its wake. Once again, I had to actively work to keep it all from swallowing me whole - I didn't want her to see me break. And so, steeling my resolve, we finally made our way back downstairs, no real destination or activity in mind beyond capturing some semblance of productivity that day. It was now past noon, and we had little else to show for the morning beyond the disheveled aftermath of our coupling.

Once relocated to the lower floor of my house, Christine sat on the dining room floor with Rex, seeming perfectly at home there and spoiling him to death as I made coffee for us. It wasn't necessarily required then, but I felt that doing so would at least keep my hands busy, force my mind to stay occupied on the task, even if it was only a brief reprieve from everything else I was avoiding. After a time, she rejoined me, settling herself at the eating bar and earning my attention with no small amount of effort. And we just spoke idly for a time, each of us seeming to dance around what actually needed to be discussed but neither being brave enough to venture there first. She was kind enough not to call my sudden absentmindedness to attention - even though I was sure she was aware of it - and I was silently grateful for her consideration on my behalf. I certainly wouldn't be able to explain the reasons behind my abrupt distance, nor did I want to. In being perfectly honest, I didn't even know _how_ to broach the subject anymore. And so, it seemed easier to let it smolder at the back of my mind until it became completely unavoidable altogether. And if I had my way, _that_ wouldn't be happening any time soon.

"I feel like a terrible guest," Christine said thoughtfully, effectively pulling me from my thoughts. And, thankful for the distraction, I couldn't help showing my confusion at her statement, prompting her to continue, "I brought a bottle of champagne with me, for the party. I should've brought it along last night. Shared some with you for New Year's or something."

"My share would have been wasted," I said, and almost laughed at that idea, hoping the sadness in my voice wasn't as obvious to her as it was to me as I explained, "I don't drink."

To my relief, she only nodded, "Well, then it's probably better off where it is."

I smiled, and then by chance remembered the reason she had been with me to begin with, absently wondering aloud, "How do you always manage to get stuck out here?"

"Believe me, it's not just here. That car is just as stubborn in the city," she said, referring to the vehicle with disdain, as if it was sentient and behaving solely to bother her. I couldn't help being amused by her expressions as she continued, "You just always happen to be the one that's witnessed it when I come to Schaumburg. I can't stand that piece of shit car sometimes."

"Under the circumstances, I can't say that I mind your piece of shit car that much."

"I guess it has its advantages," she agreed, and for a moment I thought the conversation was heading in an undesirable direction once more, along the vein of what the future held for us. But instead, she looked to the past, "Why did you start talking to me again?"

"I thought I answered that already," I said, almost warily, unsure of exactly how I was supposed to react to that question.

She shrugged, though I strongly suspected that much of her nonchalance was forced, "I just wondered if there was more to it."

I sighed - her insight was too powerful for her own good; it would only bring her problems, especially where I was concerned.

 _I'm not ready...Please..._

I didn't want to admit to her that I had finally adhered to my therapist's version of the twelve-step program - that Nadir's insistence, aligned with the need to be proactive on my behalf, had finally sent me over the edge into acceptance of the advice coming at me from all directions. I sincerely felt that Christine didn't need to know any of that - context into the situation I had brought down upon myself with her as the unwilling casualty would either insult her, or at the very least give her more reason to question me further. I didn't want her to know that I was an alcoholic - that this problem only served to worsen so many outside factors of my distress - and that even now I was struggling every day to hold on to sobriety. Even as I saw fit to return home just over a week before, that didn't strictly mean that I was entirely confident in doing so - it only meant that I knew I had to get out on my own sooner rather than later. It scared me just how easy it would be to lose what little progress I had already made. But explaining even a _fraction_ of that opened the door to still more questions, none of which possessed answers I could be proud of; I wished, not for the first time, that she would simply suspect nothing and move on - for her sake as much as my own.

So I responded instead, "What more there _is_ to it is just...missing you. More than I could handle. I made a mistake, and I wanted to fix it," I shrugged helplessly, "That's really it, I was just tired of hurting you," I insisted, shamefully satisfied that at least my words weren't _entirely_ false.

She sighed and shook her head, that thoughtful flash returning to her eyes as she murmured, "I wish I could read your mind sometimes."

"Don't wish _that._ I'd just drive you insane," I scoffed, forcing casualness to return to my stance, if only just outwardly. And she laughed then, seemingly appeased by my relative levity, and finally relented and dropped the subject altogether. Yet, not exactly confident that the issue would lie indefinitely, I ventured once again to steer the conversation elsewhere, "Your next rotation is in surgery, right?" I asked, and at her affirming nod, continued, "Who's your resident."

"Dr. Lucas, I think. I haven't met him yet, though."

I rolled my eyes at the information, and quickly explained my reaction, "He's not _bad_. A bit like Dr. McArt in some ways, but Lucas actually does like working with his students. He likes to show off, but you'll learn a lot."

"That's a relief, I guess. But can I still come to you for help?" she asked, resting her head in her hand and recapturing that much more of my attention as she did so.

And in the face of her returned ease, at the thinly veiled need for assurance of my continued company, I couldn't help answering, "Of course."

No more was said on that topic, but even so there was little time to bring the conversation anywhere else. The coffee was ready by then, and handing her mug over the countertop to her waiting hands, I nodded toward the living room, knowing we would be more comfortable there. Once we had moved, she set her coffee on one of the end tables, yet still didn't sit down immediately. Rather, she walked around the room slowly, casually, almost as if she was reacquainting herself with the space. I wouldn't necessarily have been surprised if she was - the previous evening had been somewhat hectic, and she hadn't been there for some time before that. I remembered her first and completely unexpected visit then, remembered talking to her about the books on the shelves, the music filling the room...I remembered the dance. That damn embrace that started all of this, that was the catalyst in this affair. It played in my mind's eye before I could think to prevent it, yet even so I couldn't hate that memory. But it hurt just the same, certainly now with so much more to lose. It was a major turning point that I simply couldn't see ending well for either of us.

Ignorant to my thoughts, Christine stopped at the piano, gently running her hand over the shining surface - a respectful gesture of admiration that I didn't miss.

"I've never heard you play before," she mused.

And, forcing everything else away from the forefront of my mind, I realized then that she was right - we had talked about it, but more in passing than anything concrete, and those brief discussions had otherwise never led to any proof of my ability to actually _play_ the instrument that now seemed to fascinate her.

Grateful - not for the first time that day - for the much-needed outlet, I didn't respond directly. Rather, I nodded as I made my way toward the bench, sitting with a dramatic flourish that made her laugh, and the sound coaxed a smile from me in return. Once I settled, I began to play immediately, starting with a simple warm up before moving on to mindless chord progressions, finally falling into more familiar melodies - some from classical pieces, others from musicals that she had likely enjoyed at some instance in her life or another. It felt nice to just play, to have to concentrate solely on the effort and lose myself in it by default - because although I didn't strictly have to, I needed that exercise to occupy my mind. Countless times before that moment I had relied on music to both bring me back to and pull me away from reality all at once, and the return to the practice was welcomed.

Because by that point, it was taking a far larger effort than I had initially realized it would in order to keep from either giving in and asking Christine to stay with me indefinitely - to become a fixture in my life - or to lose myself in the despair of remembering that it would be impossible, even irresponsible to do so. And the feeling of her hand coming to rest softly on my shoulder, the soft sound of her humming the melody, did absolutely nothing to dispel that idea.

"You play so well," she said, ceasing to follow the music and once again interrupting my thoughts, " _How_ is this just a hobby for you? I mean, you said you were a music major once. How did medicine win over this?"

"Curiosity," I said distantly, almost unthinkingly, before realizing that she seemed to be waiting for further explanation, "The short version of this story is that Nadir was in med school around the time I was in the Reserve. I was interested in what he was learning, so I looked into it for myself."

"That easily?"

"Not necessarily," I said, pausing before I could find the words sufficient to explain, "But it was a better option than what I had going."

"Music wasn't a good option?"

I shrugged, never missing a key as I responded, "I loved it, but I wasn't disciplined enough to make something of myself then."

"Nadir told me you had a chip on your shoulder," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice as she did so.

I laughed, "It was more than a fucking chip. I was too stubborn for my own good. The only reason I even got through basic training was because I wanted to piss off the drill sergeant."

She laughed at that, then asked, "You were still a music major in the Army?"

"Music was before jail," I said after a beat of hesitation, looking pointedly at her before turning away again, finishing filling in the blanks of that timeline, "College in the Army was more about finishing out general-ed credits."

"Where was that?"

"North Carolina."

She smiled again, moving then to sit down next to me as she said, "I like when you say that," and when I leveled another dubious glance at her, she continued, "I mean your accent. It makes everything you say sound...I don't know, different. In a good way."

"You have an accent, too," I said after a time.

"I do not."

"Everyone does. There's a distinct way you pronounce your vowels. And you talk fast, I think I hear the West Coast in you more then."

"I hadn't really realized that," she said with a fond kind of sadness for her home, and in that moment I wished I knew how to convey to her just how much I enjoyed that quality in her, how much I loved it - the way her excitement reflected so clearly, so absentmindedly in her speech was impossible not to get caught up in, and I was drawn in every time.

But admitting that would be admitting too much, so instead I opted to say simply, "I guess mine's more obvious, though. Drawls usually are."

"So where did you live in North Carolina?" she asked, mimicking the way I spoke.

I laughed, "Fort Bragg, then Durham. I went to Duke for med school."

She furrowed her brow, as if trying to remember something, before saying,"You've never told me that before."

"I never thought to," I shrugged, growing steadily more uncomfortable as I was very clearly losing control of the trajectory of the discussion. I knew Christine well enough to know where this was heading.

"I wish you would, though," she said with a gentle insistence, "Why do you hold so much back from me?"

"I really wish I could tell you," I sighed, speaking honestly enough. Only then did I stop playing, the cessation of the soft music jarring me as I added, "I wish I knew how."

"Then where do we go from here, Erik?" she asked abruptly, though not necessarily unkindly, yet I cringed just the same. It seemed like the conversation I was trying so desperately to fend off had finally arrived, and dread settled in my heart painfully as a result. Still, she continued, "I mean, we stayed up almost all night in _your home_ , we talked and we had sex, and you were _so close_ to saying…"

 _So close to saying that I love you_ , I silently finished for her when she stalled her own words, _I remember. And I guess you never heard it when I did..._

She shook her head, seemingly disarmed but what she had just almost revealed, yet continued on with renewed determination, "But even with _all_ of that between us, it still feels like you don't trust me enough to let me get to know you better. Or at least give me the chance..."

"It's not necessarily that," I said - though, in the wake of her judgment, warranted as it was, my words still sounded weak even to me.

"Then what is it?"

"I can trust you and still not want you to hear everything I have to say," I responded, almost impatiently even as I came that much closer to the truth, "There's a long story behind my reasons, and it _isn't_ one you want to hear. _Please_ leave it at that."

She sighed, but didn't force further insight, asking instead, "Do you regret this?" And I didn't need an explanation to know exactly what she was referring to.

" _No_ , not at all," I insisted, "But I feel guilty. I told you before that I didn't want to lead you on, and then this happened."

"I don't think you're leading me on. I knew what I was getting into."

"Right…"

"But, what next?"

"Let me live in denial," I said, knowing the request was futile even as I turned to face her more directly and took her hands in mine, unable to meet her eyes for long as I added, "I'd rather keep pretending that this is real."

"So...you won't change your mind."

"No. I can't," I said pleadingly, desperate to keep my voice steady, to clutch at my resolve, "I've _never_ been with someone that made me feel the way you do. But this can't happen again. I can't give you the answer you want now."

"I'm not trying to demand an answer, Erik," she said, and I envied her patience, her composure in the wake of this destruction, "I don't expect anything from you, no more than I did last night. But I won't lie and say I didn't hope that something else might happen."

I sighed, held her hands tighter as I said, "You don't want what I could give you, anyway. _Believe me_. It isn't much, and it isn't what you deserve. I'm sorry, Christine, but - "

" - I know," she sighed, and I heard either resolve in that breath, or resignation. I didn't want to know exactly which she had succumbed to as she added gently, "I understand."

"I won't force you away again, not like last time," I promised, before adding, "But I don't want you to think I used you, either."

She smiled sadly, "I don't think that at all. And I don't regret anything," she added firmly, taking a moment to seemingly measure her words before finally asking, "But where do we go from here? How are we supposed to move on?"

 _She asked me that on Christmas Eve_ , I thought dismally, _And I managed to fuck everything up in about a week._

I sighed, beginning evasively, "I already said - "

" - I mean, in general," She amended, " _A lot_ has changed between us again. What are we supposed to do with it all now?"

"We continue on as we have..." I said, a helpless shrug accompanying my words, "Since starting over _clearly_ didn't work out."

"That might work for a while. But you can't tell me there won't be hurt feelings eventually. What'll happen if I leave Chicago for my internship, or if I try to date someone else - "

" - I'd rather not think about that," I said, though far more abruptly than I had intended.

She raised an eyebrow at that, "But it obviously bothers you, too. I just...wonder how much more complicated this will get before one of us can't take it anymore. And I don't want to have to lose you that way."

I looked away from her, scoffing, "I really don't know what to say to that."

"I guess there's nothing left _to_ say that you haven't already," she said softly, but surprised me in the next breath when she pulled me close and kissed me, initiating the contact in a way that made me forget about everything else, if only for an instant. She lingered, rendering me powerless to the overwhelming need to deepen the contact for as long as I could, before she pulled back again, adding gravely, "But I have to wonder how you can do this, and still be so sure that you don't want me."

She held my gaze intensely following her words, and I wondered how much pain she could see in my eyes as she did - as I fought to resist her plea. It would have been so easy to tell her everything then, to abandon my insane resolve and just say it, _I love you, I'm so in love with you, Christine. Please just stay here with me, and I'll do better. I swear I'll do better._ But I couldn't - I knew that I couldn't.

I truly had no more to say to her - nothing left to me that would justify hurting her as I had, nothing that would help her understand without dredging up the past and flaying myself alive in turn. I simply couldn't speak, but rather relinquished an unsteady breath - one I hadn't realized I had been holding until my chest actually hurt from the force of it. And I just shook my head, moving to kiss her one more time, a slow and impassioned entreaty for everything left unsaid to be known all the same. And with that kiss, she seemed to recognize that I wasn't doing any of this to be cruel; when we parted, she gave no indication that she meant to demand more in order to prove a point. Instead, she simply stroked the scarred half of my face affectionately, and I had to turn away to the piano in response, too overwhelmed once again by what had happened in the span of less than a day. _Did this all really only happen last night?_ And rather than confront my shortcomings, I simply began to play again.

I moved my hands over the keys randomly, pulling soft melodies from my mind simply for the sake of bringing even the smallest semblance of comfort to us both - that was honestly the only way I knew how. Christine said nothing to this gesture, but rather laid her head on my shoulder, and from there we simply existed alongside one another - so much the same as we had done that morning, yet so drastically different. Sighing, I transitioned the music to a more precise melody - the opening notes of _If I Loved You_ filled the air, an intentional prayer for forgiveness on my behalf; stealing a glance in her direction, I noted the recognition in her eyes...the dawning of comprehension at the reason behind my choice. There was still so much I wanted to convey to her, so much that I couldn't bring myself to admit, yet the words continued to escape me - but regardless, it was still clear that she knew why I had chosen that song. I could see it in her eyes, and I felt a bittersweet sense of gratitude then. She sat upright again, acknowledged me with a sad half-smile, before finally turning away from me.

And on I played, my chest tight and my movements stiff as I recalled the lyrics, each beat mocking me, every interval reminding me of exactly what I was doing.

" _I'd let my golden chances pass me by…Soon you'll leave me…"_ The words, those slow and solemn and yearning words swirled through my mind, and for a moment I absolutely hated that song - hated it as fiercely as it seemed to mock me in return. Because I _did_ love her, yet even so we just couldn't ever be together. At the end of the day, she was too good to deserve the pain I would inevitably cause her - and I was too damaged to deserve even a fraction of the goodness she so willingly offered me. I had to remember that, had to keep reminding myself that I had denied her and everything we shared _for a reason_.

But even so, none of that desperate rationalization made it any easier to face the end, nor whatever lonely expanse surely waited beyond it.


	17. Chains Around My Heart

**Author's Note:** _Greetings, PotO Brethren, and Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow 'Muricans! Finally, I have an update for y'all - and it's about motherfucking time, amirite? But srsly, I do apologize for the delay. Life just gets shitty sometimes, but I'm glad to say it's settled down once again, enough for me to actually access my story and this website. Thank you all so much for the continued love, support, and feedback, especially when it takes me quite some time to update this and reply to messages! You are all wonderful and I'm very grateful for the awesomeness you share! Welp, as usual, please let me know how this chapter turned out - oddly enough, it's actually the shortest to-date, but also a necessary bridge to future...stuff...So definitely feel free to share any feedback, comments, predictions, or anything else. Finally, the title for this chapter comes from Richard Marx's song of the same name. So, I believe that's all - remember to drop a review, and most of all, enjoy!_

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Chapter 12 - Chains Around My Heart

Christine

 _Ah, must I leave thee here in endless night to dream?_

 _Where joy is dark and drear_

 _And sorrow all-supreme_

 _Where nature, day by day_

 _Will sing, in altered tones, this weary roundelay_

 _He loves thee_

 _He is gone_

 _\- The Pirates of Penzance, 1879_

Periodically, I glanced at Erik as he drove us out of his neighborhood, distantly aware that, although he _was_ careful, his doing so required less caution than had been employed during last night's trip. City crews wouldn't be out to salt the streets on the holiday, but the steady sunlight had started the snow melting, and it seemed that enough drivers had ventured out before us to clear the roads, to compact the snowy streets and give any standard all-wheel drive car the chance to gain traction. Thus, it was simply a matter of actually getting out on the road for us to make the trip back to my car in relative safety. We shared the suburban streets with more cars now than the night before; it seemed that everyone was ready to get out of their homes in favor of celebrating the new year in the wake of its first major storm. The snow was blindingly bright all around us, the sky above impossibly blue - I couldn't adequately describe why, but it somehow just _felt_ like a new year, all potential for greatness lingering in the wings.

And it should have been delightful to experience - in a perfect existence, I would have reveled in it. Yet I felt a weight on my shoulders - a distinct feeling of suffocation brought on by the silence in the car - that didn't reflect the outward levity of the world whatsoever.

Erik had donned sunglasses and replaced his surgical mask when we left his house again, and the thin mask seemed foreign now after being absent for so long - foreign and impassive, and all too unfamiliar. His face, once again, was almost completely obscured - it made me uncomfortable, and saddened me immensely. Logically, I knew he felt that he needed to wear it. I knew exactly what compelled him to hide his face from the people we would inevitably pass on our journey; he had never stated that fact explicitly, but his discomfort with complete exposure was no secret. And even if we didn't _directly_ encounter anyone that day, he would need to leave his car to jump the battery in mine when we arrived, and I was sure that the idea of having to be out in public even in that relatively small capacity was an unwelcome one. I knew him better than to assume he would forego the act of self-preservation even for such a short amount of time. But still, after everything that we had discussed and shared during the preceding hours, the reappearance of the mask and its barring my sight of the man behind it somehow still burned me just the same.

But I chose not to comment on any of that; it was somewhat irrelevant, when I really considered it. And at any rate, my mind had repeatedly been occupied with another thought for quite some time - even as unpleasant as it was - and I wanted to get it out of the way once and for all. So, breaking the silence, I asked instead, "Is it safe to assume that you want me to keep this between us? Not talk about it with anyone else?"

He didn't need to be told exactly what I was referring to or why, and answered almost hesitantly, "I'm sure there's no polite way for me to ask for that."

"I understand, Erik," I said softly, honest with my words, "I'm not taking it personally. I know we need to be professional."

"This isn't out of shame," he said, glancing at me quickly before returning his gaze to the road, "But discretion would be...appreciated."

"Alright. I wouldn't, though," I said hastily, then clarified, "I wouldn't go around saying anything that would start rumors about you, or us."

"I know, sweetheart."

I nodded my response, and sighed at the endearment - wondering all the while if any similar terms of affection toward me would outlast the complications we had built for ourselves - but said no more. Of course I knew Erik wasn't ashamed of what we had done, nor did I intend to brag about it to our colleagues, but that didn't mean I wasn't disappointed by the outcome of what had happened between us, by the final decision that was made regarding our relationship - a decision that was entirely out of my hands. In being perfectly honest, I was having trouble letting go of that disappointment. I had been all day, as the damning words were spoken and the morning slowly fell into the afternoon, when finally I couldn't take being in his house much longer.

Maybe an hour or so after what come to pass at the piano, the notes to the anthem of our almost-love having long since died out in the air as Erik played the last chords, I had asked to be taken back to my car. I wanted to go home, to be alone with my thoughts and attempt to sort them out somehow. After our conversation, staying seemed wrong, and far too distracting. He seemed hesitant for me to leave, even unwilling to part ways after our momentous night and turbulent morning. But he said nothing to convince me to stay, either, even as his astonishingly expressive eyes seemed to beg me for more time by my side just the same. But really, I didn't want him to try to convince me, because ultimately the words necessary to meet that end would become no more than empty platitudes. My leaving was not a test, was not a means to force him to prove that he cared for me by keeping me in his company; I wouldn't gauge his reaction to my request to leave just to manipulate him that way - I couldn't - and I was grateful that he hadn't assumed that it was. But even so, I knew I had to go home.

I couldn't stop thinking about him, about everything that had happened over the holiday, and I needed to be able to put it all into perspective. I loved him, I wanted to stay with him and continue on together, no matter how slowly that happened - but I wouldn't force him to bring me into his life, nor was I so naive as to believe that just sleeping with him was enough of a foundation to build something healthy upon. I didn't regret it, but I had to acknowledge our folly; we had made staying away from one another in that capacity that much more difficult, and we had made our future uncertain. I was more than a little disappointed, saddened by his stubbornness - but I wasn't surprised, either. In being perfectly honest, the fact that I _wasn't_ surprised by the outcome hurt as much as the rejection had, but that didn't change the overlying circumstances. Right or wrong, I knew what I was getting into as much as he did. I was overwhelmed, trying not to give in to any initial anger I might have harbored, any misguided assumptions of being used and cast aside, and I simply needed to sort it all out alone.

Because there was nothing more we could do together from there, nothing that would benefit either of us at that point. I knew that if we had any hope of moving forward one way or another, we would need a chance to come to terms with what we had done - and we had to do it on our own. For my part, I knew I wouldn't be able to think clearly with him so near by, and I sensed that it was the same for him, that my presence only doubled his conflict on the matter.

"Are you sure you don't want me to just take you back to Chicago?" Erik asked, effectively breaking me away from my mind.

I smiled at the concern tinging his voice - that moment hadn't been the first that he'd made the offer since we left his house. But while I appreciated the gesture, I couldn't accept, simply for the fact that doing so was impractical. So I just shook my head, "I'm sure. I'll have to come back out here to get my car eventually. I might as well just get it over with now."

"I'm worried about you driving all that way alone."

"The streets aren't as bad as they were last night. It's clear enough for me to handle. And anyway, if I have trouble, I'll call you again."

"So long as you're not dead in a ditch somewhere," he muttered.

"I won't be," I laughed, "Thank you anyway," I said, feeling more at ease then than I had since we left. We were silent again, the lack of sound now companionable as we drew closer to our destination. I relaxed a bit in my seat and simply thought for a time, lost in musings about everything and nothing and stubbornly avoiding more unpleasant topics, until a random, sudden realization came to me, "You haven't smoked the whole time we've been together."

"No, I quit," he responded, then added wryly, "Again."

"You just gave it up, all at once?" I asked, and at his affirming nod, I continued, "When?"

He shrugged, "Around the time I went back into therapy, I guess. So you can probably thank the good doctor for that."

"I _do_ thank him," I smiled, "Quitting means you'll live longer."

He made a sound of what I could only assume was amusement, but didn't speak otherwise. If he smiled for me in return, I couldn't see the expression behind the mask, the arms of his sunglasses too broad and the lenses too dark for me to be able to read his eyes clearly, even from my angle. Once again, that quality of impassivity drove me insane. I hadn't been quite so frustrated by not being able to read him since the day we met - and _that_ conflict, even as it was ultimately resolved for the better, hadn't gone well initially for either of us. Recalling that long-passed anger, I bit it back. I didn't want to return to a similar mindset now, didn't want my lingering frustration to ruin the remaining moments of our New Year's Day spent together.

Those moments, however, were far fewer than I would have preferred. Before I knew it, I recognized my car just ahead, still covered by a generous amount of snow and waiting for me to return. Pulling over, Erik maneuvered his own car to face mine in order to jump the battery, and once he was satisfied with his parking, we each got out of the car and wordlessly set to work getting mine started again. Beyond the few prompts and instructions required for the process, we didn't speak; it was a silent agreement made between us, negotiated as if we both dreaded the inevitable moment of parting - as if we believed that any words shared then would only hasten the seconds ticking by. For me, the idea of lost time was distressing; I could only imagine how much more so it might have been for Erik. And so, we said almost nothing until our task was finally accomplished, until I was secured behind the wheel of my car, waiting for him to return to me after putting his jumper cables away.

I rolled the window down when he approached, and once I had he leaned on the ledge, only then moving to take off his mask and sunglasses. I hoped he hadn't caught the sigh of relief I gave at seeing his face again, even as I smiled at the sight, at the eyes that I had needed so badly to see before having to leave the man that possessed them.

"Will you call me when you get home? To let me know you got back safely?"

"I will."

He nodded, "Please, _please_ be careful."

"I'll be fine," I insisted, "Don't worry."

"Just...promise me, alright?"

"I promise," I said firmly, then paused, weighing my abrupt decision before finally voicing its accompanying question, "Will you kiss me goodbye?" I asked. And I did so without fear - because even if it was a mistake, we had nothing left to lose, and I wanted one last chance for at least some small sense of closure.

He sighed, though the disappointment he conveyed in the expression didn't seem to be intended for my request, but rather was inspired by the bigger picture - by the circumstances that forced me to have to worry about asking the question to begin with, rather than being assured that I would be given a kiss in parting freely. Still, he gave in to my request with little hesitance on his part, this aspect of our relationship now being so much more familiar to us both, for better or worse. He leaned in closer, took my head gently in one hand as he brought our lips together for what - I could only assume - would be the last time. And although I knew that this moment wouldn't be our last one spent together, the gesture itself seemed so _final_ , and I almost regretted asking for the kiss altogether. But in the end, that regret was fleeting. He deepened the kiss, almost forcefully, let it linger just long enough to ensure that its meaning wasn't lost upon me - he hadn't used me, and he hadn't wanted us to end there. I knew that. He simply had no other choice, regardless of whether or not I could understand his reasons entirely.

When he pulled away, he offered a sad half-smile and brushed his thumb over my cheek before finally retreating. And I wanted nothing more then than to pull him back, to kiss him again, to change my mind about going home and find a way to stay with him longer somehow - but I knew I couldn't. I couldn't do any of that. Delaying the inevitable would only hurt us both more, and I simply had to accept what had passed between us for what it was, an expression of parting - sincere and affectionate though it was, but still parting nonetheless.

"Be careful," he repeated as he stepped back, moving in front of my car to the sidewalk but staying close by to see to my safe departure. I appreciated the gesture - even if nothing more was ever going to happen in the course of our relationship, he was still my friend, and in spite of everything else, I was grateful for at least that much.

Driving away from him was so bittersweet, somehow overwhelming and unbelievable all at once. It seemed strange, in those moments, that everything had changed for us mere hours before we ultimately had return to our separate lives once more - that it took only one night to fall in love, and one day to fall away again.

~~oOo~~

The first thing I noticed upon returning to my apartment was that Willow had situated herself on the fire escape beyond the living room window. I assumed that she hadn't been waiting there for very long - it was too cold for that, even with the sunlight shining down on the metal platform - but even so, I hurried across the room to let her in. She would likely appreciate the relative warmth, and I wanted the company. Even though I had lived alone for quite some time by then, the apartment suddenly felt very empty, had become far too quiet, and very likely because I had spent the night in someone else's presence. Doing so felt right; I knew then that I would miss the kind of companionship that Erik and I had shared now that I had been given a glimpse of it, but opted not to dwell on that unpleasant realization for too long.

Once the cat was inside, happily trailing behind me as I made my way to sit at my small kitchen table, I took out my phone to call Erik as promised. The conversation we held then was brief, though I still noted the relief in his voice when I assured him that I was home, that the trip from Schaumburg was as fast and uncomplicated as outside factors would permit. I didn't want to admit to him then that I had missed him the entire time, didn't want to wonder aloud if he had begun to miss me as well, even as I strongly suspected was the case. Rather, I kept that part of my mind hidden, not wanting to add still more weight to the scale of our shared troubles; and so, ignorant to the whole of my internal struggle and seemingly satisfied by the knowledge of my safety, he ended the call shortly thereafter, graciously understanding that I needed to be alone.

I rattled around the space for a time after that - absentmindedly straightening stacks of textbooks and medical journals or smoothing wrinkles out of the blankets on the couch - but never settling on just one productive activity. I had nowhere to go, nothing related to work or school that required immediate attention; I couldn't quite calm myself down, never could find something comforting to occupy my mind. As much as I tried not to, I just couldn't help thinking about much beyond last night, beyond Erik. But then, it occurred to me that I _needed_ to think about it all - avoiding that path was doing me no good, and anyway, that was exactly why I had wanted to come home to begin with. And so, reminding myself of that, and recalling aspects of the night before, I went into my bedroom, watching Willow jump up to the bed and curl up contentedly as I laid down on the floor. From there, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to finally settle down and focus. Doing so had helped me before with Erik as my guide, but _that_ memory just made me miss him that much more; I could almost feel him beside me now, and his lacking presence was starkly apparent once again.

I had _meant_ to figure out the situation we had gotten ourselves into, namely to break it down into something more palatable, but all I could do then was remember what we had actually done to make this endeavor necessary in the first place. I remembered every moment in his arms, remembered the feeling of kissing him by the flickering light of the fireplace, the warmth of his skin against mine as we moved together in his bed, each time we shared our hearts and our bodies, made love as if nothing else even mattered; and truly, in those moments, it hadn't. But now...now everything was different. We no longer had the luxury of casting the world aside and forgetting the rest of our lives. Reality caught up to us, and it had pulled us so unwillingly apart.

Sighing, I opened my eyes again and turned over, curling up and cradling my head in my hands as I did so - much as I had done when I was still in high school, when I found myself brooding over an obnoxious classmate, or a bad grade, or some boy that had tampered with my emotions. _I'm certainly a creature of habit_ , I thought snidely. Even now, more than a decade later, it seemed that I wasn't above giving in to games of the heart. I couldn't help wondering if Erik was going through the same thing, if he was caught up staring at his ceiling and wanting to go back in time, to have the power to change it all. I wished then that I had a picture of him, something outside of my memory to hold onto - I wished I had something of his with me. I'd had half a mind to steal the shirt I had borrowed, but quickly decided against it. Taking away clothing was something that girlfriends did, and I certainly wasn't that. At that point, I couldn't say what I was to him. We were friends, yes - and now so much more, yet far less than what we could have been. It was complicated, and I wanted nothing more than for our situation to be different - for the overall circumstances to have somehow granted us some peace in our relationship.

Quite frankly, I felt lost. My reaction to it all surprised me - where during the fleeting midnight hours I thought I could accept whatever came of the next day, reality was far more cruel, more painful than I had imagined it might be when it was actually unfolding, when the consequences of our decision couldn't be ignored any longer. The light of day brought forth complications - both direct and potential - that I hadn't even considered the night before, not until we'd had that discussion before I left, and I sincerely didn't know what to do with any of that new information. There was so much more factoring into our relationship than either of us had entirely realized, and for my part I was just...lost. I had been honest when I told Erik that I hadn't expected anything of him; but I was also honest when admitting to my later disappointment all the same. I hated to feel as hurt and heartbroken as I did, but there was no denying it. Erik wasn't going to change his mind, and it seemed that neither of us knew exactly how to move forward under those conditions.

How to actually do so simply remained to be seen. Ultimately, I could only come up with a grudging acceptance of present circumstances, could be grateful for what we had shared and determine that I would agree that it couldn't happen again - but I couldn't necessarily bring myself to be _happy_ about it, nor did I find any way to make it all easier. I simply had to carry on, and pray that doing so wouldn't lead to further pain for either of us as time went on. It wasn't much, but it was all I had left then - as so many times before, I had to hold on to half of a hope.

~~oOo~~

The medical students were required back to work in the hospital during the first week of January, and while it hadn't been a long break for me, I was relieved to start my next rotation in surgery - my work there would keep me busy, keep my mind occupied, and I felt then that I needed that outlet to distract myself from everything else that was happening in my life. I hated the idea of personal problems taking time away from larger priorities, and so I simply opted to put it all out of mind as much as possible. Compartmentalizing seemed prudent then - first and foremost, I was a student, and I for the sake of my future, my success, I had to remember that.

I arrived early my first day back, determined to head straight to my next assigned department. But as I made my way from the hospital's main entrance to the elevator banks, I saw Erik heading toward the ER, and I wanted to take a moment to at least greet him before we went on to our respective duties. Only a day or so had passed since we last saw each other in person, since we parted ways in Schaumburg, and we hadn't spoken on the phone during that time at all. I knew his lack of contact wasn't a slight against me, and I had hoped that he wouldn't consider my silence to be an act of retaliation, either. We'd both needed time to just take a breath, and I could only hope that the time apart had at least benefitted him to even the smallest extent somehow - God only knew that I wasn't faring as well as I had hoped I would. But I had missed every conversation and point of contact with Erik, and so seeing him again, I wanted to bridge the expanse between us - at least partway.

He turned when I called out to him, and quickly approached upon recognizing me.

"Are you going up to surgery?" he asked when he could speak to me directly.

I nodded, "I'm early, but I like to get acquainted with the other residents and attendings before the shift starts."

I saw the good-natured smile in his eyes as he asked, "You nervous about this rotation? I mean, now that it's actually happening."

"A little more than I thought I'd be. But I think I'm prepared enough for this one. You're still going to help me, though, right?"

"Absolutely," he said, and I was certain he was telling the truth - but if he meant to say more, I wouldn't know. At that moment, one of the ER attendings captured his attention, handing him a chart and noting an urgent case before nodding a greeting to me and leaving again. Erik read the chart in his hands before looking at me apologetically, "I have to leave, but we'll talk again," he said, glancing pointedly at me before adding, "I'll call you later, alright?"

I half-smiled at his silent reassurance, "That's fine. Have a good day."

"You, too," he responded, touching my shoulder briefly before turning away, calling out as he left, "You'll do well up there."

I gave another smile at his departure, glad for that conversation and grateful for the words of encouragement. It was a substantial relief to me for us to be speaking again, even as our encounter had been relatively simple and short-lived. But it was better than the silence we had pulled down around ourselves, and I knew that I could at least look forward to the promised phone call. The idea hadn't banished my sadness about the overall situation entirely, but it had helped, and I felt that the smile I offered him then hadn't needed to be forced. From there, it had been my intention to continue on my way upstairs, but this time around I was the one who was recognized by someone else and delayed. Raoul's voice pulled me from my thoughts, and before I knew it we were engaged in a discussion of our own as we waited for our elevator together. I was sincerely happy to see him again - but much to my dismay, his focus was entirely on his recent vacation, and therefore mine was eventually brought up by default.

"How was your New Year's?" he asked, leaning against the wall between elevator doors.

I responded as nonchalantly as I could manage, "Fun, I guess. Yours?"

He shrugged, "Uneventful. I basically just spent it in the airport, actually. Had a ton of delays, but it's my own fault for trying to travel on the holiday."

I smiled at that, "What about Christmas? Where did your parents end up going?"

"Palm Springs," he said, then amended as the elevator's electronic bell went off over our heads, signalling for us to prepare to board, "Technically Rancho Mirage. But I spent most of the time with my brother while my parents did the gambling thing."

"I'm sorry," I said, pressing the number of our intended floor once we had gotten onto one of the waiting cars. Other people filed in behind us, and although it had quickly become a very limited space with the growing crowd of staff, patients, and visitors, Raoul continued talking.

"It wasn't too bad," he said, "We missed you this year, though."

"Right," I laughed humorlessly, wishing that he would leave some things out of this conversation, especially with so many people around us to overhear. He knew better than anyone else how quickly gossip spread in this environment, and I didn't want anyone nearby to misunderstand any piece of our discussion and go on to make their own assumptions. Feeling especially frustrated at the thought, I said more sharply than intended, "I'm sure your parents were devastated that I wasn't there."

"Well," he said sheepishly, " _I_ missed you."

I knew Raoul, and knowing him meant that there was more to his statement than was superficially obvious. But I chose to ignore that, hoping that no one else had heard what he had said in the first place, continuing as casually as possible, "I'm glad you got to see your family."

He nodded, "It was nice," then paused before venturing, "What'd you do over break?"

 _Well, I did Dr. Riley, so..._

I cleared my throat quickly, hoping the smirk that accompanied my sarcastic thought hadn't been too terribly obvious. I had certainly done a lot over the holiday, all innuendo aside, but once again none of which I felt should be shared freely at work, regardless of whether or not that information was passed on between friends. And Raoul _was_ my friend, but I didn't necessarily trust him with my secrets then - not after the trouble he had caused for Erik and myself all those weeks before. And at any rate, even if we'd had that conversation in private, even if Erik and I hadn't agreed to discretion where our time spent together was concerned, I was sure that Raoul wouldn't appreciate becoming privy to the fact that I had slept with someone else. We had broken up a long time ago, but that didn't mean there weren't still hurt feelings over the falling out - and moreover, he had made his lingering affection clear to me fairly recently. I didn't want to shatter that, even if nothing more was going to happen between us.

So I feigned polite indifference, not quite lying as I said, "I just stayed in. Lost power at one point, dealt with the snowstorm. All of that."

"Fun," he said noncommittally, waiting for the last few people to depart the elevator a few floors before ours before adding when we were completely alone once more, "So, I noticed Dr. Riley's talking to you again."

"Yes," I prompted, albeit warily.

"I was just surprised to see that."

"It isn't anything new," I explained, "It's been a couple of weeks now, actually."

"I thought you were pissed off at him," he pressed.

I sighed, distantly mindful to remain patient, "I was upset, but that never meant I wasn't willing to talk to him. So when he wanted to discuss it all and apologize, I heard him out."

"Right."

"Is that a bad thing?"

He shrugged, though the gesture was more tense with this topic than it would have been otherwise, "I just have to wonder how long it will be before he flips out on you again."

"You're saying that like he acted _a lot_ worse than he actually did," I snapped, not exactly meaning to, but not quite wanting to prevent the sharpness of my tone just the same, "Under the circumstances, I would've been upset, too."

"Sure, but - "

" - Raoul, this time, can you _please_ just leave this alone?" I asked, still more impatiently than I would have liked. But I needed to make myself clear, wanted almost desperately to prevent yet another unnecessary conflict, so I continued on firmly, "Who I may or may not be friends with isn't any of your business. So please, unless I tell you that something's wrong and ask for help, just trust my judgement, alright?"

"Fine," he sighed after a long pause, "I'll trust you. But that doesn't mean I'll trust _him_."

We had gotten off the elevator onto the surgical floor by then, and he looked more than a little dejected as we made our way to the admit-desk to await our individual residents. I sighed again, mingled frustration and melancholy overshadowing anything else I might have felt toward him in those moments; grudgingly, I had to acknowledge that his heart _was_ in the right place - even as his approach bordered on overbearing at the worst of times and misguided at the best - and I couldn't fault him for still being protective. That was simply in his nature, I had always known that much. But there _had_ to be limits clearly set out between us even so, especially now that our careers were so close to beginning and our interpersonal relationships could very easily and significantly affect our futures, should we choose to act irresponsibly.

Yet even so, while I was determined to stand up for myself and for Erik when necessary, that didn't mean I had to cast Raoul aside altogether. We had repaired our friendship more than once over the years, and now I had to be mindful of the time we shared in the past, at least for the sake of our being able to function together professionally. And so, quickly making up my mind, I decided not to press the issue further for the time being, nor did I deem it prudent to chastise him for attempting to pry into my life outside of work, at least until he gave me reason to speak to him more sternly once again. At that point, doing so could only make each of our lives easier, and we certainly needed the opportunity for at least a little bit of peace while it was available. I certainly had enough to handle on my own as it stood, and I was sure that one less conflict could only benefit me then.

So I let him have his space and brood, and allowed myself to continue to carry on as I saw fit - not caring then whether or not doing so was selfish.


	18. Just a Sad Song With Nothing to Say

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back! Thank you once again to everyone that's read, reviewed, and shared so many lovely words of kindness and support, and a bonus thank you to the various shout-outs from fellow authors participating in "ficauthorsweek" events! I have a lot to cover during this A/N, so let's get right to it. To begin with, **MAJOR CONTENT WARNING: there will later be direct references to child abuse/sexual assault against a child later in this chapter.** And although neither forms of abuse themselves will be described in detail (as in they do not take place during any scene), they will be spoken of more than once. So if you are unable to handle that, do not read the section beginning with an asterisk ***** after Christine and Erik's conversation. If you still want to continue the story but would like to skip the second half of this chapter, feel free to send me a message and I will outline the events, leaving out unsettling details, so that you can move forward in the plot without missing major developments at the end. Also, events during the second half of this chapter are based exclusively off the "ER" episode entitled "The Human Shield." The premise of that episode is mirrored extensively here, with only a few details changed - this is about as much as this story becomes a crossover, so I want to be absolutely sure that credit goes to writers and producers of "ER," and know that I do not own this plot whatsoever. I just love the show so...damn...much. Also on the note of "ER" and medicine in general, please be aware that I am not a medical professional, and that my knowledge is rudimentary at best - if I have made any error during my research and writing and one of y'all knows what the mistake is, do not hesitate to correct me! I sincerely appreciate the feedback and would love to learn from those that know what the hell they're doing! :D And finally, the title of this chapter comes from lyrics in the song "Disenchanted" by My Chemical Romance. Welp, I believe that's everything! Please let me know what you think, or what you predict might happen, or anything else you'd like to share. Enjoy!_

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Chapter 13 - Just a Sad Song With Nothing to Say

Christine

Although little else was accomplished that New Year's Day or shortly thereafter to sooth my heart's unease, Erik and I had at the very least determined to maintain our friendship from that point on. And in spite of such recently hurt feelings on my part, I could still bring myself to count that much as a positive outcome, all things considered. But even so, it turned out that my relief would be somewhat short-lived. Because the fact remained that there was now so much new territory that inevitably had to be navigated between us in the wake of that decision - more so than I think either of us had initially realized - and we had to find a way to live with that truth.

In order to remain as figures in one another's lives, we essentially had to relearn the vital and functional components of our friendship in the wake of what we had done to foster its change to begin with. But unfortunately, how to actually _do so_ with any modicum of equal success remained to be seen; in many ways, we were novices to the art, and we clearly had much to learn. It was no small feat to even try. But still, I didn't necessarily mind that this was the case - it certainly wasn't what either of us _wanted_ , but it was far better than once again having to force ourselves to let go of our companionship altogether. The first time that had happened had been so incredibly painful, so seemingly endless, and I didn't want to be in a position to have to go through any of that again - not if it could be at all prevented, and not when we were both in agreement to strive for what little more could be permitted.

So we decided easily enough to carry on together, now in a limited capacity, but together in some fashion just the same. But even that decision, of course, didn't come without bearing its own set of problems - in time, I resignedly came to realize that we simply weren't fortunate enough to avoid some sort of fallout or another demanding our attention, and it just seemed that we were consistently proven to be ill-equipped to handle each turn as it stood. Namely, our manner of communication became one glaring point of contention.

As promised, Erik had called me the night after my first shift in my surgical rotation. And in the span of that conversation, we simply spoke of that facet of my schooling - but very little else. In many ways, the dynamics of our past student-and-teacher coexistence reemerged during that discussion, echoing very closely what we had shared when we first met and began working alongside each other. And much to my dismay, the change took hold steadfastly. I couldn't say with any certainty if he was even aware of it, but during the following weeks of phone calls and limited interactions at work, Erik reminded me more of the man I knew back in the early autumn rather than the friend I had come to know and love. It was as if we had been thrust back in time, but the difference now was that we knew each other fairly well, an obvious disparity which made the step backward rather difficult for me to continue to accept. The overall circumstances were still difficult to accept, to be honest; I had forfeited so much already, and I would be lying if I didn't say that I was very near to the breaking point of my patience, uncertain yet how that would manifest but fearful that it would be disastrous for us both when it did.

Regardless, we resumed our practice of talking on the phone nearly every evening after his first move to reach out to me. But in yet another setback, it quickly became the norm that I was the one doing most of the talking, another recurrence from the autumn - once again, the imbalance steadily returning between us was impossible to ignore, and it grated at me endlessly.

Erik's hesitance - if not outright declination at the worst of times - to engage with me further was more deliberate than ever. And while I knew it was done in part to spare our feelings, I couldn't deny that it hurt - it just all seemed so unfair. I had given him my body, had invited him to accept me in return as I had at the outset, but what we had now seemed more like an unequivocal stalling than even a small, tentative chance at more. We certainly couldn't pretend that nothing had happened over New Year's, nor so many less momentous instances before that night; it wasn't productive, and it wasn't healthy. But it seemed that we were doing just that, unwilling though my participation was, allowing a sort of purgatory to become our reality with no end in sight. I was steadily beginning to resent it, and I feared that the resentment toward his behavior would bleed into my regard for Erik himself. The prospect of that outcome terrified me - after everything we'd been through, I didn't want to lose him that way.

As such, there came a point that I knew I had no choice but to speak up - at least as much as I could convey over the phone, limited though it was. If nothing else, he had to be made aware that I wasn't happy with our current arrangement, nor the chance of its further deterioration. Because what I was experiencing from my perspective was painful, but I was no longer willing to suffer in it alone. We needed some sort of resolution to our latest set of problems before they destroyed our friendship, and I wanted the assurance that Erik was amicable to the idea of finding that resolution together. I said just that and then some to him one night as our conversation drew to a close - and much to my surprise, even without the whole story, his response of agreement was direct, his remorse for his role in my misery made clear.

"I'll make it up to you," he'd said, but otherwise offered no further insight toward the complete meaning of this promise, and at the time I had to let the issue lie. But luckily for us both, I didn't have to wait long for an explanation - he knew me better than to leave me to my worries alone, and for that I was grateful.

The following day, he found me getting ready to leave the hospital at the end of my shift and asked me to go for a walk with him. It was a simple and superficially inconsequential request, but I accepted it easily just the same - it wasn't often in the first place that we spent time together beyond the confines of medicine, and less often lately that we were able to have a conversation outside of a phone call that didn't focus on our work. He had promised to address his distance, and I knew that initiating this walk was the manifestation of that olive branch, yet another between us that he saw fit to extend when prompted. I distantly wondered if we would ever get to a point where his doing so would no longer be necessary, but I didn't dwell on the notion long. Rather, I attempted to focus my attention on the coming conversation, knowing that it could very easily lead to either an argument, or a solution. I sincerely hoped for the latter, if just for the continued hope that further communication could only serve to benefit us at that point.

As we were leaving the hospital's campus through the main entrance, we stopped just long enough to buy coffee from one of the vendor carts that lined the streets, each of us needing something warm in our hands then to combat the achingly cold January air, something strong to pull us from the fog of exhaustion that the demands of our shifts encouraged.

"I'll get that," Erik said as I moved to pay for my drink, and I didn't attempt to persuade him to let me cover the charge myself - I knew he wouldn't. In many ways, he was very much a gentleman; I idly wondered if that stemmed from his Southern roots, or perhaps something less stoic and traditional, something born later in his life. But I halted that line of thinking as well, simply because I was too saddened by the idea that I'd likely never know for sure; I couldn't bring myself to continue. Rather, I just accepted his gesture, thanked him, and fell in step with him as we resumed our progress away from work.

We walked the short distance to one of many nearby parks quietly, though for the most part it was a companionable silence. I knew it likely wasn't deliberate, but even so he had picked a good day for the excursion. Chicago had been covered by several storms in the few weeks since the new year began, but that day was bright against the chill, and city crews were reliable about keeping the urban roads and sidewalks clear - largely for the sake of the office buildings and retailers in the area, most certainly the places of commerce this park was tucked between. All of the holiday decorations were long-gone by then, but the lingering snow and plow-burms aided in keeping the wintry quality of the world at the forefront of everyone's minds - the snow wasn't going away anytime soon. But I had learned to enjoy it all in spite of growing up so near the ocean and being raised by the near-constant warmth of the West Coast. I grew to love so many more aspects of Chicago than I believed I ever could at the beginning of my time there. I was grateful in those moments with Erik, not for the first time, that he'd asked me to join him.

But I didn't move to say that to him then; I didn't want to shatter the thoughtful quiet we shared even as the city roared life all around us. So strong was my desire to keep that facade of contentment between us as long as possible, it was only when we'd tread well within the boundaries of the park that either of us spoke at all.

"You can take your mask off to drink your coffee now, if you want," I offered, hoping that I wasn't acting presumptuously as I did so, "There's no one nearby."

"That's fine," he said, clearly yet politely declining without explicitly saying the words, "This is more to keep my hands warm than anything else."

"You don't have gloves?" I asked, only then noticing that particular article of winter clothing missing from his person.

"I don't like to wear them," he said, and at my curious glance, explained, "I have to wear those damn sterile gloves so often, and I hate the feeling of my hands being covered," he shrugged, and even as he seemed at a loss of how else to explain, somehow his words made sense. I could only imagine that someone like him - someone whose hands worked so skillfully to preserve life, so artfully to create music - would feel constricted by the necessity of that barrier between them and the world. It was a unique aspect of him that I hadn't known existed until then, yet another quirk in his personality that endeared him to me that much further. But, ignorant to my musings, he concluded holding up the coffee a bit in reference to its utility, "It doesn't matter anyway. If I get too cold, it's an easy fix."

 _Or you could hold_ my _hand, fool,_ I thought, but immediately decided against voicing that sharp observation out loud. He might not take it as a humorous jab - and to be perfectly honest, I couldn't say I meant it as one entirely to begin with. The idea was rather more akin to a challenge I knew he wouldn't accept, and one that was creeping into territory that I had no business being in anymore - ideally, I would want the gesture to be a subtle push forward into romance, but that small act of affection or any similar to it could no longer happen for us.

So I glanced at him instead, if only to satisfy a distant need to actually see him beside me, before quickly turning away again as I spoke sincerely, "Thank you for getting the coffee, by the way. And for bringing me out here."

From the corner of my eye, I saw him nod, and I wondered absently if he smiled behind the surgical mask at all as he responded, "I wanted a chance to be with you for a little while."

"I find that somewhat surprising, Erik," I ventured cooly, unexpectedly agitated.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and he seemed a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in my tone when only an instant before it had been relatively more at ease.

Yet for the moment, I couldn't bring myself to care; aside from saying that I felt something was wrong between us recently and setting into motion our time together that day, he hadn't given me a chance to speak to the subject at all, and it seemed that I had more pent up exasperation behind my concern than I realized until it actually met the air. Because he knew damn well why we were together that day - that we needed to speak frankly - yet there was almost a sentimental quality to his words that didn't match the overlying circumstances, and the ease with which he conveyed that distant air of fondness stung badly in light of our shared reality. And with that, I allowed more annoyance to show in my voice than I had initially intended.

But I continued on just the same, only marginally softening the edge of my words, "You just seem to only want to talk about surgery lately. I thought that was the only thing on your mind," I added, even as I knew what I said had been something of an exaggeration. But at the same time, it wasn't too terribly far from the truth, and he seemed to understand that.

"It...seemed like a safe enough topic. Or at least relevant, for now," he said slowly, seeming to measure his words carefully, and I knew that the looming discussion had arrived.

"I'm worried about what it means," I returned, bracing myself now but still nearly losing my nerve to actually approach my reason for wanting to speak with him in the first place. But I had gotten this far, and he _was_ willing to listen to me then - that much was clear by virtue of his presence alone. And anyway, I couldn't say when, or even if the chance would show itself again any time soon - we had to have this out once and for all. So I pressed on as we continued to walk, no specific path or real destination in mind, so unlike the trajectory of my thoughts, "Everything I said last night still stands. I don't want this distance between us."

"I don't either."

"But it's happening anyway. And I'd thought that after everything we wouldn't...I don't know, go _backwards_. That's really how it feels. We had sex, but the way we talk now, it's like we barely know each other."

"At least you don't mince words," he said, his own annoyance sparking then as he looked around, seemingly to reassure himself that none of our colleagues had happened to be nearby to hear my direct admission. No one was, of course - few people were out at that odd hour, not quite lunch, no other breaks occurring for anyone working in the area - but I wouldn't allow myself to pause and regret my blatant indiscretion. Not then.

"I'm just being honest," I snapped instead, even as I began to grow more nervous that I was appearing to lose control of the conversation. Tension was high now for us both, and I wasn't sure how to salvage the ease we shared at the outset of this venture. I hadn't meant to antagonize him at all - but then, I didn't feel that he was being fair to me in return, either, and it all just seemed to unravel around me as I fought to keep my composure. Our walking had slowed, each step taken carefully, even as doing so wasn't necessary with the absence of ice. But it seemed that we each unconsciously needed that added measure of caution to remain in the moment, to stay calm in the face of this dispute.

He stalled, seemingly to prepare a defense, but to my relief his expression softened instead, "I know you are, honey, but..." he trailed off, then stopped himself completely upon realizing that he had misspoken by including such a familiar address to me again, his brow knitting into a line of dismay before he added, "I'm sorry, I need to stop doing that."

"I wouldn't mind, if I thought this was going somewhere..."

"You know it's not," he said firmly, and in spite of myself I scoffed at his words, as if I _actually_ needed the reminder. He sighed, but chose to ignore my brief outburst, saying instead, "But that's not what you want to talk about now anyway."

"I just want you to stop walking on broken glass with me. I thought you cared about me more than that," I shook my head, stubbornly averting my eyes to the coffee cup in my hands to avoid his steady gaze, "Or maybe I'm just overthinking it."

He considered his response before speaking, "Would you have been hurt if I'd dismissed this?" he asked, and at my affirmative nod continued, "Then understand that the same applies for me. I do care. You're not overthinking anything."

"But it _does_ feel like you've dismissed this. And me," I halted the progress of our steps entirely then, moving to face him directly, showing my hand early but feeling that I had nothing left to lose, "I just don't know why you're holding back again."

He shrugged, not quite meeting my eyes, avoiding them as if they caused him pain as he said, "Because _a lot_ changed for us, and I honestly don't know how to move forward this time. I'm being careful because I don't want to make this any harder than it is," then he added with a humorless laugh, "I think I ruined us."

"You weren't the only one there that night."

"Either way," he sighed, "I understand what you're saying. I _know_ what the problem is, Christine, and I'm sorry it's upsetting you. But I don't know how to fix it, or how to go on," he paused, seeming to hesitate before saying, "Maybe going back to basics is in our best interest."

"No, it isn't," I countered, my voice sharpening once again, "You can't be the one making all of these calls. You _don't_ get to be in charge. Every other time you've been, you make unilateral decisions that I get no say in, and it hurts me," I said, softening my tone as I added, "I had to say goodbye to the friendship before, and I want to be able to do something to keep that from happening this time."

"I'm not forcing the friendship away, though."

"No, you're just slowly letting it suffocate," I said determinedly, leveling a stony, pointed glance at him that I knew he couldn't ignore.

He held my gaze just as stubbornly for a time, a standoff between us spanning over an immeasurable instance - but in the end, he finally relented, sighing wearily and saying, "I don't want to fight, Christine. I really don't."

"Then what _do_ you want?"

Another cold laugh, "I really just want to go back to New Year's."

"Right," I rolled my eyes, "Before the beginning of the end..."

"You should know that I wanted to put that off as long as possible. At least your leaving," he admitted, gesturing for us to start our slow walking again, and I followed the silent request as he continued, "I wanted you to stay and pretend that was our life."

I paused a moment, searching my memory and coming up empty, "You never told me that. You _should_ tell me these things, they're obviously upsetting you."

"It wouldn't make a difference."

"Maybe not," I offered, my anger fading away now almost entirely to a truce of sorts, a restored understanding that he was just as hurt as I had been - even if the reasons were vastly different. It was a game neither of us could win, and it was painful to participate, to keep coming back if only for the sake of more moments spent with him. For my part, I had felt so alone in that struggle from the outset; I hated to think how isolated he was in turn, hated that his pride and unwillingness to reach out to others likely kept him from bringing himself any solace. With that idea weighing down my thoughts, I added quickly, "But you shouldn't have to handle that alone."

"Don't worry about me, please," he said wearily, though not unkindly.

"It's hard not to worry. And besides," I said, and turned for him to see the sly grin I had adopted, hoping to restore even a fraction of happiness for us somehow, "I can't just _not_ care about someone if I've seen them naked."

He actually laughed at that, the sound shocked yet genuine, and my teasing smile only grew. For a moment, he looked off to the side as if he was collecting his thoughts once more, the sun's reflection in one of the office buildings' windows glinting in his eyes, making them shine stunningly for an instant before he turned back to me, still smiling. I wanted to reach out to him then, but I knew I couldn't.

And as if reading my thoughts, his expression soon faltered, the levity fading as quickly as it had occurred when he said in mingled fondness and near-dismay, "I could get too used to this, you know."

"Would that be so bad?"

He stopped walking this time, "You have no idea."

I sighed, knowing that I would receive no further explanation for that vague reply. Rather, I let resignation paint my tone, "So what now, Erik? Do we continue on like this and hope for the best, or do we have to stop talking again altogether?"

He bristled at my directness, as though he dreaded the outcome neither of us wanted, "That has to be _your_ decision. I promised you I wouldn't leave again, but if you need me to bow out, I'd do it for your sake," he said, his sharp tone softening immediately at the dejected expression the that idea of him leaving inspired. Noticing that swift reaction, he took my chin gently in his hand and tilted it upward, giving me no choice but to face him as he said, "But please know, that's not what I want."

"I'm not letting you bow out," I said determinedly, then sighed, "So then what are we supposed to do?"

He considered his words before finally saying determinedly, "Stop acting like strangers, and pick up where we left off before New Year's."

"Doesn't that put us in a worse position, though?" I asked warily, remembering those days all too clearly - the constant balance between affection and indifference, the circumstances that ultimately led to a forced silence from him were impossible to forget. I couldn't imagine how the notion of reentering that time in any way now would be wise for us.

"I don't know," he said slowly, "But if the alternative is ending the friendship, I'd rather take the risk."

I sighed again, nodding as I let the idea settle. In the end, with his words - with my ultimate, if not desperately misguided acceptance of them - another impasse came to define us.

~~oOo~~

 ***** By the time January was a little more than halfway over, I couldn't say that I had much to show for the time spent drudging through that month. At least not on a personal note. I was doing well in my surgical rotation - far better than I had initially expected - but otherwise I went about life much the same as I had at any other point during my education; simply put, it was as if I hadn't recently had romantic interest in anyone at all. The only notable difference was that Erik had kept his promise and carried his side of our conversations more equally, and our interactions gradually improved, not without their intervals of both successes and imperfections. We didn't speak about the future at all, but nor did we limit discussions of the present as much as we had before what happened in the park, either. Erik was more willing to speak openly to me then, though it didn't escape my notice that he seemed to have to force himself to do so, that he was very much still being careful about how much of himself he offered. But it _was_ a degree of progress, and for the time being I chose not to comment on our relationship any further.

We did not share more time outside of work - at the nearby park or otherwise - but at the very least I saw him at the hospital when I was able to, not necessarily seeking him out but grateful all the same when we found a spare moment together. It was in those brief meetings when I noticed that, if nothing else, he was marginally more affectionate toward me, as much as he could be while still remaining professional and platonic. Even so, it seemed that he was continually trying to remind me that his rejection was not willing on his part, that all was well between us otherwise - it was as if he was asking forgiveness for the pain he had so unwillingly caused me. And I truly appreciated his consideration, even as much as I came to dread it. Because at the end of each day, after parting from each encounter, it became increasingly more painful to receive a softly spoken word or a familiar gesture from him, those ever-present reminders of a relationship that would remain in stasis for the foreseeable future.

There was one distinctly painful day at the end of the month, however, during which neither of us was focused on the other, on the dynamics of our friendship whatsoever. Priorities far outside of ourselves had quickly captured and held a grip on our attention, and rightly so.

It had been on the news all day, and was discussed so much in every department that I had learned the whole story by heart, as much as I wanted to ignore the fact that something like that had happened to begin with. A man had kidnapped a ten-year-old girl in Indianapolis some weeks ago, and after spending so long traveling state-to-state evading capture for one and missing rescue for the other, they had both finally been boxed into a corner by local police officers this morning. What resulted then was an immediate confrontation that had lasted well into the day, seemingly with no end in sight any time soon.

The man had holed himself up with his victim in an abandoned warehouse somewhere deep in the city, and the entire ordeal had ultimately resulted in a hostage situation and a police standoff; reporters at the scene repeatedly speculated that it all would end in a shooting - that statistically, "suicide by cop" was the most likely outcome for the man, the little girl's fate as-yet unknown. And, in a cruel twist of circumstances, our hospital was the closest to the warehouse. If blood was shed - by assailant, child, or officers - our emergency department would have to be the ones they came to for help. The specifics, however, still remained to be seen. From there, it was simply a matter of waiting for what would actually come of the situation.

Throughout the day, gatherings of nurses, surgeons, and other med students had milled about as close to the television in the waiting room as possible, some actually clustered around it when they could spare a moment to do so. So invested was the department at large that even Dr. Masterson, their chief of surgery, didn't seem to find it necessary to reprimand anyone for that behavior - the surgical service was relatively empty that day, and moreover, it was easy to understand why so many people were awaiting the outcome. Their investment was clear, each of them looking at the screen with mingled disbelief and anger - every moment that continued on pointed directly toward the strong likelihood of a dire outcome - we simply didn't know who the victim would be in the end.

Suddenly, one of the nurses gasped, everyone within earshot - myself included - pausing with no small amount of dread, knowing exactly what would have caused her reaction. We all heard the newscasters' frantic commentary as we looked up at the television, witnessed through the screen that the kidnapper was firing at the police - and we all felt the mounting panic in the room as police and SWAT officers fired back, that panic only growing stronger as the kidnapper resorted to using his victim as a human shield. I turned away then, a too-late attempt to spare myself from seeing the child fall to the ground before the feed was pulled from the broadcast. It was too late - everyone present had known that the incident would end in gunfire, but we hadn't been expecting to witness _that_ , to actually see the incident play out for ourselves. Naively wishful thinking though it might have been, we truly hadn't thought that such a heinous act of cowardice would be carried out that day.

Dr. Masterson captured Dr. Lucas' and my attention almost instantly, and my heart sank when he directed us to follow him to the emergency room to receive the casualties. I knew I would have to remain professional as I worked, and I had seen my fair share of violence before, but I wasn't sure if I could come face-to-face with that child and leave unscathed. But I had no choice - I was a student, I had knowingly agreed to an obligation to this hospital and its patients, and I had to continue to learn how to handle these kinds of cases.

By the time we made it downstairs, a group of emergency room attendings and residents had already gathered or were in the process of arriving at the ambulance bay, and I quickly recognized Erik among them. That in itself wasn't surprising - his chosen field specialized in trauma, and he would be an invaluable resource when the department finally admitted the injured. But still, I was dismayed by his presence, wishing that he hadn't been required there that day at all. Working with children tended to affect him badly, and the circumstances surrounding this child were far worse than anything we ordinarily saw in our work. He wasn't going to have an easy time; even as he would hide it well, even as he would work efficiently, I knew that his thoughts would never be far from reality - from what led the child there to begin with. I didn't want to consider what would happen to his state of mind if a fatality occurred for someone that didn't deserve that fate - I had to force that notion away for the sake of my own composure.

He hadn't noticed my presence initially, his eyes distant as he put on a sterile gown and tied the knot in front of him, preparing himself alongside his colleagues for the coming onslaught of trauma. It was only when he looked up from that task that our eyes met, and he walked over to me quickly, keeping the fact that he meant to see me directly as surreptitious as possible. In that environment, however, his effort was unnecessary - we had been informed over the radio by then that we would be receiving the child, one of the police officers caught in the crossfire, and the kidnapper himself. And there was not a single person there that day that was looking forward to the prospect of having that man in our hospital, let alone having to treat him - to save his _life_ when he had been so willing to sacrifice a child's. I knew then that only seasoned attendings would be permitted to work on him; impartiality of that magnitude - under those exceedingly distasteful circumstances - was hard won, and only years of commitment and practice would ensure that legal and ethical procedures remained intact.

Erik's voice pulled me from my bitter thoughts, "The kid's just a few minutes out. Masterson has Lucas treating her, so you'll be in there, too," he said, his tone straightforward, before he added softly, "Are you alright?"

"As much as I can be," I murmured, crossing my arms over my chest as I spoke, "Whose case will you have?"

"I don't know yet. I don't get a say in it, but hopefully the _cop_ ," he added pointedly.

I nodded, but didn't respond further - there was nothing else I could say then, really.

It was no surprise that the little girl was nearly in hysterics when the EMTs brought her in some tense moments later. Dr. Lucas and I had waited by the ambulance bay door, waited and prepared to repair the damage inflicted upon her. But Erik had accompanied us as well to get her settled and delegate tasks on Dr. Masterson's behalf, and he spoke to her first.

"Sweetheart, try to calm down," he said as we each lined up and walked beside the gurney, then sharply nodded to one of the paramedics to indicate that he had understood the vitals being read off to him before he continued, "I know you're afraid, but we're going to help you. Can you tell me your name?" he asked, even though he knew that information already - he simply meant to keep the child engaged and alert.

"Where's my mom?" she cried.

Erik repeated firmly, yet gently all the while, "Tell me your name, babydoll."

As our group led her gurney into the trauma room assigned to us, she finally managed to settle down slightly, hiccoughing her name meekly, "I'm Tamara."

"Tamara, my name is Erik," he said, and although we couldn't see his smile behind the mask, the expression was clear in his voice - and very likely forced entirely for her benefit. Still, he kept talking to her, "We called your mom. She's on her way now to get you."

Tamara seemed appeased enough by that news, even as she continued to weep - noting that, Erik took her hand in his, running his thumb over her fingers as one would soothe an infant. He was incredibly gentle, compassionate as he aimed to keep her quiet and confident. By then we had her settled in, and only then did Erik step away from her bedside, ensuring that one of the nurses would take his place instantly. From there, he and Dr. Lucas spoke briefly and in hushed tones about what course of action to take next, what the proper treatment would be in this situation. She had been shot in the chest, but mercifully only once - by the time she made it to us, she was stable enough that we were hopeful for her survival, unspokenly assured that she would soon be reunited with her mother and have a successful recovery. We liked to believe that children are resilient; more often than not, they are, and there was that collective, unspoken plea to any higher power that would listen that Tamara would be among them. But even so, she never remained calm for long, even with someone by her side constantly; she was distressed to the point that she would only do herself more harm if she continued, and it took several attempts to coax her out of her panic and keep it at bay.

She only settled down significantly when we were finally able to reach her mother, who had been driving for hours and was nearly in the city, by phone; bringing the extension over to the child's bed, one of the other nurses assisted her in holding the receiver, offering her a chance to speak while Erik pulled Dr. Lucas and I aside to conclude their discussion.

"And start rehydrating her," he finished some moments later, "I have the others coming in, but I'll be overseeing you while she's in this department. I'll come back in a little while."

But as he turned to leave, Dr. Lucas spoke, "I'm going to let her stay a bit dehydrated."

Erik turned, eyes narrowed as if he was unsure if he heard correctly, "What?"

"It'll knock out any clots she gets. Permissive hypertension is - "

" - Is a _stupid_ idea," he snapped, "And too much of a risk here."

"Dr. Masterson already agreed to it."

"Well I don't. If something goes wrong, we won't be able to catch it in time."

Several heated exchanges occurred after that, Dr. Lucas seeming to gain the upperhand purely by stubbornness; but Erik was just as immovable, held to his stance in his authoritative manner. For my part - caught in the middle between a modicum of cursory knowledge and lack of real-world experience as a student - I had to remain silent on the issue for the time being. While I knew Erik's years honing his instinct and experience were likely pushing his decision in the right direction, I wasn't in a position to disagree with Dr. Lucas, either. Erik, at least, didn't seem to expect me to - but rather, eventually he determined that he needed to confer with Dr. Masterson himself for the matter to be resolved once and for all.

Dr. Masterson, unfortunately, had taken Dr. Lucas' side. I knew Erik had wanted to lash out at that, wanted to bite back when he felt a mistake was being made. But to his credit, in a moment that spoke volumes about his sense of professionalism, he permitted the chief of surgery's decision with Dr. Lucas to be carried out as planned, with the final caveat of remaining nearby should Tamara's condition grow more critical before she could be moved upstairs.

"This isn't your case," Dr. Lucas protested, clearly offended by Erik's insistence of his continued involvement, "You said yourself that you're just overseeing."

"Which means I'm partly responsible for this, so - "

" - Erik," Nadir's voice from the doorway suddenly interrupted, "EMTs pulling up, come on."

"I'll go with you," Dr. Masterson said, seemingly in an attempt to diffuse the tension shared by two very determined physicians.

Erik leveled a stony glare at Dr. Lucas, "Come get one of us if _anything_ goes wrong," he said, glancing at me briefly one last time before leaving the room.

I could only look at him in unspoken sympathy when I saw the regret in his eyes as he left, unable to bring myself to dismiss the lingering conflict he carried between having to keep to the rules the hospital had in place and changing a treatment plan that he simply didn't trust. It was a vastly complicated situation, one in which either man could have been correct in their assertions and planning - it was simply a matter of judgment and procedure, the rest left to time. In the end, his hands were clearly tied, his demeanor grudgingly defeated.

His unfortunate situation was all too soon made that much worse when he had been required to work on the kidnapper who was, much to our silent dismay, faring relatively well in spite of his own gunshot wounds. One of the nurses present there had later said that his trauma room was eerily quiet, that Erik and the other doctors in attendance had only spoken to each other when doing so was absolutely necessary, otherwise each determined not to give the man the satisfaction of getting a rise out of any of them. Apparently, he had tried to more than once. As that happened elsewhere, there was a point when we had to ask Tamara several sensitive questions - she had been kidnapped by an older male whose name was on the national offender registry. The odds were extremely high that sexual abuse played a substantial role in his motives. When those questions were regrettably answered in the affirmative, the next step was for one of the nurses to perform an exam to collect evidence of sexual assault. And so, for the sake of the child, to spare her any more embarrassment or discomfort, all but two nurses stepped out of the room, each of us lingering close by in the adjoining trauma room or connected hallway and nearly desperate for the moment to breathe, to rage and question God and cry out if necessary on Tamara's behalf.

By then, one of the police officers had arrived to inform us that the deputy that'd been shot was stable, and would very likely survive his ordeal. We all breathed a collective sigh of relief at that news - one that was monumentally short-lived by the following revelation that the kidnapper had also been saved. It was an extremely conflicting moment, a time when each of us had to remember the oaths we'd taken or would soon take and would call upon countless times when we bore witness to human atrocities. Erik had joined us by then, forced stoicism painting his every move, but I made no effort to speak with him just yet- not until we could have a moment alone together.

That instance came soon enough when the others in the room departed to see to other duties as we awaited our return to Tamara. I was able to stay with Erik then, and I was thankful for the chance. We were silent for a moment once we were left alone together, each as overwhelmed as the other.

I was in his arms before I could think to act otherwise, clutching at him in an embrace I needed more than anything. Whether or not it was appropriate didn't matter to me then, nor did Erik seem to care even so. Rather, he immediately returned the gesture, holding on to me tightly as we each attempted to regain our respective composure. It was no easy feat, but it was an immense relief at least to not have to do so alone. Regardless of anything else that had happened between us by then, one of the major factors in the early cultivation of our relationship was this type of support, this brand of release when our work grew too overwhelming to handle alone - it was done more so on my part, but it was support nonetheless that was _very_ sorely needed that day. More so than I'd ever been made to face before. As we held fast to one another, I was grateful to be on equal enough footing with him to be able to return the favor of cathartic interaction.

He pulled away with a heavy sigh, saying, "I can't believe the cops shot her."

"Everything happened so fast," I reasoned, "Don't blame them."

"I'm not blaming _them_ ," he snapped, though I knew the frustration he displayed was not aimed at me, "He wants to see her."

I was initially confused by that last statement, but in the next instant the dawning realization of who he was referring to was staggering, "Are you serious?"

"I wish I wasn't. He told us that he loves her," he said sardonically, and I didn't need to see his face to know that he sneered, his voice low as he spoke, "Can you fucking believe that?"

I shook my head, but didn't speak. I had no response, no possible way of being able to come to terms then with what had happened - with what I had just heard. To say that it was appalling would be an understatement. Instead, I simply crossed my arms tightly over my chest once again, looking away from my companion even as he put a hand firmly on my shoulder, a silent reassurance of something I couldn't yet grasp.

We remained in that stance only for an instant longer before one of the nurses from Tamara's room interrupted, her tone urgent as she said, "Dr. Riley, you need to come back in here."

Rushing to return to the trauma room, Erik left my side at a near-run, clearly with the understanding that what negative effects he had feared of the child's treatment plan were actually happening. Following close behind, everyone in attendance was tasked with reining in the sudden chaos.

"God _damn it_ ," Erik snapped as he begun his work, the first sign of his reserve faltering, yet his hands already moved in a steady attempt to identify and undo whatever exactly had gone wrong even so, "I knew something like this would happen."

"You don't need to say 'I told you so,'" Dr. Lucas muttered as he assisted.

"I'm not _saying_ that," Erik returned sharply, "I'm saying that this is the result of a risk you _should_ _not_ have taken. I shouldn't have left," he said, almost to himself, then instructed one of the nurses succinctly, "Go find Khan and Masterson. _Now_."

The doctors in question were brought back into the room quickly - but ultimately, their return was all for nothing.

~~oOo~~

The team worked on Tamara for nearly an hour - likely far longer than we should have. We had sought all that time to restabilize the child, to find the source of her extreme and sudden decline and regain control. It was soon revealed that her pericardium was full of blood - her heart had been slowly suffocating, and we hadn't known about it until it was too late to repair.

We worked in vain, but we just couldn't give up - it was clear that none of us was ready or willing whatsoever to do so yet. It was impossible, absolutely unthinkable to even consider, and that thought sustained the futile effort well past any grace period that might have otherwise saved her. The determination I saw in Erik's eyes was nearly tangible as he led the attempt to coax her back to us, speaking softly to her even as the monitors screamed in protest - in abject denial of any lingering signs of life. He repeated her name sharply, repeated an endless succession of pleas for her to _wake up...come on, Tamara, wake up_. And in the path of those entreaties, he should have known it was over by then, just by the fact that he was uttering the words so desperately - once it becomes a chant, a prayer, it's over. But like the rest of us, he couldn't bear to lose the fight, not after everything that little girl had been through.

"That's enough…" Nadir finally said despondently, as softly as he could to still be heard over monitors and medical equipment, "It's time to stop. She's gone."

Erik slowed his progress - almost unwillingly - before finally freezing altogether, a nearly indiscernible tremble commanding his hands as he did so. It was only at Nadir's silent insistence that he stepped back, bloodied hands suspended in front of him in complete disbelief, eyes distantly horrified. He was the one that had to pronounce her dead, and the pain in his voice when he did so drove violently through us all. I had been aware long before then that he made a point of not attaching himself to his patients as much as possible, but in those first moments I knew that this particular case, this little girl would haunt him forever.

I had to look away from him when he spoke again, "Time of death…" he said, just loudly for the nurse to hear him, allowing a brief pause, most likely, to glance at the clock before continuing, "Fifteen thirty-four."

Another police officer had returned just moments before the child's death, seeming to have been waiting for the appropriate moment to speak before he murmured solemnly, "Her mother's just gotten here."

"I need to go talk to her," Erik whispered, resignation clear in his tone.

"I'll do that," Nadir said, looking at his friend sternly.

And Erik complied with a nod - more easily than I would have expected - as he discarded his gloves and gown.

But beyond his stiff and mechanical motions, there was no other significant movement within the room; no one made to leave the space immediately. It seemed that we were all still paralyzed by our shock, by our anger in the wake of this crushing, unjust defeat. That suffocating silence and immobility was only broken again when Erik abruptly cried out - a sound of frustrated devastation crashing into the air around us - and forcefully kicked over a tray of instruments. Some of us flinched, but otherwise no one moved to correct the behavior or prevent a similar action; it was as if we were all, in some way, giving into our anger vicariously through him. My heart broke for him as much as it did for anyone else involved, and I bowed my head in acknowledgment of that shared pain, but I had no idea how else to respond - rather, I stayed where I was, distantly aware that I was crying but not finding it in myself to care. I wasn't the only one. But Erik, on the other hand, seemed to be making a tremendous effort to hold back his own tears, standing stock still for an immeasurable amount of time once he recovered from his outburst, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. Then, moving in quick, agitated motions, he finally stormed out of the room entirely without another word to anyone.

I excused myself easily only moments later, each of my superiors understanding the need for space in those moments. There would be plenty of time to continue our work soon enough. In the meantime, I couldn't stand to be in that small room with Tamara's body any longer, couldn't stand to be with everyone that fought so hard to save her. I just wanted to be with Erik, not caring then to stop and justify why; I found him again fairly quickly in the doctor's lounge, remembering that he often sought refuge there when it was unoccupied. When I walked in and closed the door behind me, he was standing in front of his locker and gathering the few belongings he'd brought to work with him that day almost desperately.

"What are you...?" I began to ask numbly, before the realization set in, sharpening my voice as it raised in question, "You're leaving? _Now_?"

"Obviously," he snapped, looking over his shoulder but not quite meeting my eyes.

"Give me a minute, I'll go with you," I offered in a haste, even though it was likely that I wouldn't be allowed to leave my shift then, certainly not under those circumstances. But I didn't want to be alone, either, at least without the possibility of seeing Erik in the hospital later that evening. It was difficult enough to face the rest of the day as it was - I needed some sort of reassurance of something positive, _anything_ else to look forward to. The thought of being alone in the wake of everything that happened that was too much for me to manage then.

But he was stubborn, saying almost flatly, "I'd rather go by myself."

"You shouldn't - "

" - Christine, _stop it_ ," he nearly shouted as he rounded on me, "Leave me alone."

Stunned, I could only flinch when he slammed the locker shut and turned to leave the room, and I didn't try to restrain him as he pushed past me. I didn't know what to do - I had seen him struggle during difficult shifts in the past, but I'd never seen him _that_ upset before, and it was scaring me badly. But in spite of my fear, I knew that nothing I said then would reach him, not in his present state of mind. And although some abstract and unnamed instinct screamed at me to act otherwise, I opted to let the issue lie for the time being, at least to give him a chance to settle down before attempting to speak to him again. I was hurt by his behavior, but only distantly so; I knew it wasn't directed at me, and while it would have to be addressed as unnecessary and inexcusable later, I was also willing to allow him the breakdown. I understood more than enough that what we had all just been through was distinctly traumatic, that everyone would need to handle its effects differently. And so, quickly brushing the remaining tears from my eyes, I left the lounge and made my way back to my resident.

I found him just outside the trauma room, pacing morosely and just barely acknowledging my arrival. I didn't fault him for that; there was no room for hurt feelings there, nor did I harbor them. Nadir had just gone inside after informing Tamara's mother of her loss, and when he returned, leaving the woman to grieve for a time until he would have to return to help her manage her affairs, it was clear that he did everything with a heavy heart that we three silently shared in that hallway. His innate compassion for those he treated was one of many things I respected about him, but it was difficult to witness then, difficult to see someone I now considered to be a friend in pain - the reasons for it unimaginable and unforgivable.

"Dr. Lucas," Nadir said, his voice tight, "Take your student upstairs, find your attending physician, and wait there. I'll be up to talk to you all when I can."

And we did just as we were told - we waited until we were summoned some time later, explained our side of the events as required, and after the rush of procedure and clarification and activity, were eventually excused for the day. Dr. Masterson informed us that we were to have some time off following the case, and Nadir was giving the same option to his staff in the ER that was involved alongside us. Personal days like that weren't often given en masse, but the decision was made, as they explained, in response to an extremely unique set of extenuating circumstances. The time off was ultimately meant to give us the chance to address the incident and handle our grief appropriately in order to return to the hospital to work once again, and to do so efficiently - but quite frankly, I wasn't sure a few days away would be enough.

I told Nadir just that when I returned to the ER's lounge later, and he was sympathetic to my take on the situation as he said, "You'll have to learn it eventually, but it's hard. I wish your _resident_ was telling you this," he added, with no small amount of annoyance that Dr. Lucas had grown rather aloof in his position as my mentor as the day wore on. Noting that, I didn't doubt that Nadir was genuine when he concluded, "But you know I'm here to help."

I sighed, "Thank you."

He only nodded before asking, "Do you know where Erik is?"

"He left earlier, before Dr. Lucas and I went back up to surgery."

"Damn it," he muttered, "I had wanted to talk to him..."

"Well, I was actually thinking about heading out to check on him. Do you want to come with me?"

He seemed to very seriously consider the offer, but had to decline, "I can't, there's still a lot here that I need to deal with."

I nodded, understanding the burden he had to shoulder, "I'm sorry. Today was bad for everyone," I said, then added, not needing to be specific about who I referred to as I admitted, "I'm worried about him, Nadir. He was so upset."

"I know. Just go ahead and check on him. And…" he said distractedly, pulling a notepad from his labcoat and writing something down. He handed the sheet of paper to me quickly, revealing a phone number as he requested, "Will you call me if something's wrong?"

Sensing an underlying meaning to the question, though not quite being able to pinpoint what that meaning possibly was, I narrowed my eyes and asked warily, "Is something _going_ to be wrong when I get there?"

"Will you?" he pressed.

"Yes, that's fine," I said, relenting quickly, if only for the sake of the thinly veiled urgency in his voice, "How bad off is he going to be?"

"I just don't want him to be alone right now, and I can't get to him myself for a while. But he trusts you," he responded, giving me a significant look.

I sighed again, now a bit frustrated, but knew I wouldn't get any further if I continued to question his intentions. Rather, I simply had to be the one of us to see to the welfare of our troubled friend; I had a feeling that Dr. Khan had been in that position enough times in the course of their friendship, and I wondered more then than ever what exactly those years had contained for them, whether I could handle it all myself - whether I _should_.

But in the meantime, I just had to see if Erik was alright - or at the very least how he was faring so far on his own. Everything else could wait until this storm passed.

So I nodded, "I'll let you know what's going on as soon as I can."

"Thank you," he said sincerely, giving my hands a reassuring squeeze before I turned to leave - alone now with my own scattered and confused thoughts as I headed out of the hospital.


	19. Hello Stranger, I'm a Disaster

**Author's** **Note :** _Hello again everyone, and Happy (belated) New Year! It's been a while, so I'll keep this short. First, I want to thank everyone for the continued love, responses, and support! Y'all are so amazingly helpful, especially when I'm feeling down about this story! Second, a bit of a sad note - as some of you know, my little cat Dirt, or Doodle, passed away last month after succumbing to stomach cancer. This was a devastating loss that I'm still feeling very deeply, but I wanted to acknowledge her here because I love her very much and had her since I was twelve years old, and today would have been her fourteenth birthday. She lived a good, long life - though not long enough - and I just wanted to give a nod in her direction :') Now, relating to this story again, just a warning that there will be some sensitive information revealed at the end of the chapter, which I will discuss further in the author's note for Chapter 15. Please let me know if anyone is uncomfortable with the subject matter, and I will fill in parts of the story you may need to skip over. Finally, the title for this chapter comes from lyrics to the song "Brutal Love" by Green Day. Welp, that should cover just about everything. Please let me know what y'all think, and most of all, enjoy!_

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Chapter 14 - Hello Stranger, I'm a Disaster

Christine

Dark clouds hung low in the sky - so low that it nearly seemed possible to reach out and touch each of them; a part of me wanted to very badly, if only to give in to the fantasy and in turn ward off the sense of foreboding that reality had instilled in me. The clouds had slowly gathered, building in intensity until they completely covered the formerly clear morning through the hours that distinguished each part of the day. Now there was the distinct threat of snow looming above the whole of Chicago and its surrounding suburbs, and there was no peace in that change that otherwise might have been present; instead of offering the unique sort of tranquility that some snowstorms held within their flurries, this environment felt keenly ominous in a way that was suffocating, and it almost hurt me to witness, to even just be a small part of. I was already on edge enough as it stood.

As such, the drive out to Schaumburg was absolutely miserable for me. Even though the trip itself was uneventful - almost laughably simple when recalling everything else that had happened during the span of that day - I couldn't stop worrying about what I would find once I reached my destination. Though, if anything that worry spurred me on, and I could consider at least that much as beneficial. I needed _something_ to go right after the Hell I'd witnessed today.

I'd never driven straight to Erik's house before then, but in my near-desperate determination to check on his wellbeing, I made it there quickly enough to count the first trip on my own as a success. At any rate, I didn't get lost in the process, didn't have to call ahead to find my way again, and I was grateful for that bit of good fortune. I had a distant feeling that warning Erik of my arrival would only cause further problems - more likely than not, my presence would be met with resistance, if not outright refusal. I knew, if nothing else, that the outcome announcing my sudden presence would be that much better if he wasn't expecting me in the first place.

The fact that he seemed to have not noticed me pulling into his driveway was proof enough that this was exactly the case, and I counted that small victory in favor of my continued success as I made my way to the front door. But I hadn't realized until Erik opened it that I had been expecting to see a walking nightmare before my eyes - I'd honestly expected to see him weeping and falling apart, or at least far less composed than he was now. His outward appearance, however, wasn't nearly as bad as I had assumed it would be throughout my journey to him; it didn't seem to speak of any larger issues in his mind at all. He wasn't wearing a surgical mask, yet his face was as impassive as it would have been if he was. And while he still appeared visibly upset, to a degree - as always, his eyes betrayed him - that seemed to be the extent of his turmoil.

Noting that, I desperately wanted to hope then that his composure was a reliable testament to his overall state of mind. Yet I still couldn't assure myself completely. Somehow, I knew it was only an act, even as I wanted to convince myself otherwise. He was relatively and genuinely calm when all was well, when it was just the two of us interacting on neutral ground - but _this_...this was calculated, deliberate. It truly made me nervous, because the alternative to his easy manner was clearly a very strictly enforced and likely long-practiced bravado, and I knew that would be far more difficult for me to penetrate. He was too stubborn to relinquish that sort of armor so easily.

But, attempting to push those thoughts aside for the time, I was stalled before I had the chance to do anything else, before I could think to speak; if I even had the _distant_ thought to smile at him, to hug him - something - I never had the opportunity. He seemed almost disappointed to see me there, and I would be lying if I didn't say that the expression stung. I hadn't expected an enthusiastic greeting, but his apathy was still somewhat jarring all the same.

"I think you should leave," he said sharply, completely foregoing any other physical or spoken form of greeting as he moved to close the door.

"Erik, wait," I returned quickly, clearly losing ground in favor of having a chance to talk with him, adding almost pleadingly, "I just wanted to check on you. I'm worried about you."

"Nothing to worry about," he said, then smiled sardonically, "Have a nice day."

And he _did_ shut the door then. He hadn't actually slammed it in my face, hadn't gone forth with the gesture quite so dramatically - but in my stress-addled mind, he might as well have done that and more. His behavior toward me was absolutely uncalled for, and certainly out of character when considering the terms of our friendship. I had grown rather accustomed to his affection; in fact, with very few exceptions to far lesser degrees, he hadn't treated me with so much coldness and abrupt anger since the day we met. And very much like that first day, the term _fucking rude_ came to mind for me now. Whether or not it was right, my response was furious and swift. He had gotten away with far too much surly behavior toward me that day; if nothing else, that point needed to be addressed sooner rather than later. Focusing on that issue alone to gain courage, I raised a fist and pounded loudly on the door.

" _Erik_. Let me in!" I shouted, certain he could hear me. But when nothing happened, the more stubborn part of me defeated any sense of civility that might have remained - I walked through without bothering to ask again to be let in, nearly crashing into him as a result. It seemed that he had been heading back to the door, though whether to lock it or admit me, I didn't know. Given his standoffish demeanor, I suspected the former.

"Oh my _God_ ," he said with an exasperated sigh before continuing, his voice bearing a strange and tremulous note that I couldn't readily identify, "Christine, I'm sorry you came all the way out here for nothing, but please - "

" - Spare me, I'm _not_ leaving," I countered determinedly, "Not until we talk, and not until I'm sure you're alright."

He narrowed his eyes at me for an instant, as if he couldn't believe that I'd had the audacity to force my way into his home and insist that he share my company as I did. But much to my relief, he relented easily enough.

Rolling his eyes, he moved aside pointedly, extending his hand to grant me entry with a flourish that was almost a challenge, and I stepped further inside the foyer quickly - before he could change his mind. Even though Nadir had warned me - however vaguely - that Erik wouldn't be doing well upon my arrival, a part of me finally understood firsthand then that something terrible was unfolding within him. Something was burning him alive, and he seemed almost desperate to fight it in any way possible. I couldn't say what that was, but once again there was something very off about him; his hands trembled, seeming to compete with the slight tremor in his voice that I'd noticed only moments before, and even though he appeared composed enough beyond those strange qualities, that composure was as clearly forced as I'd initially assumed. Even in my anger, my concern for him grew, and with that concern I wondered how long it would take for the first cracks in his angry facade to appear; when they did, I could only imagine what would happen.

I followed him toward the kitchen, or so I assumed. That seemed to be where he was headed, though he was stopped more than once by Rex's insistent whining and nudging. _He's so anxious_ , I thought, even though I had already realized as much. _Everyone_ that had worked on Tamara and witnessed the injustice of her death was beyond words with grief and anxiety, and Erik had more than enough reason to feel that himself. I wanted to find some way to help him manage it. As he kneeled down briefly to acknowledge his service dog - completely ignorant to my thoughts and somewhat stiffly in the process - I took in my surroundings as I mulled over my role in his home that afternoon. At first, I noted that nothing was outwardly very different from my last visit, nothing that would immediately cause me more worry than I already felt - that was, until I heard the somber music playing over the speakers in the living room, a soft backdrop to his despair. And I had to physically suppress a shudder at the sound, quickly and regrettably recognizing a Nick Cave song that had always saddened and disturbed me.

 _"Pass me that lovely little gun_

 _My dear, my darling one…"_

I sighed then, wondering with a pang of dread if Erik had chosen that track purposely - and if so, just how terribly upset he must have been to make that choice to begin with.

His voice broke through my thoughts, and only then did I realize that he'd moved to the kitchen while my back was turned, pouring a healthy dose of Jack into a glass tumbler as he said, "I don't really know what you're expecting, Christine. I'd rather you not be here."

My response was delayed, distracted by the rapidfire warning bells going off in my mind - something about what he was doing struck me as problematic. Yet I couldn't place exactly what that was in those moments, only that I was deeply unsettled then. But at that point, I was too overwhelmed to work through what crucial detail I was clearly missing, to the point of near-complete distraction. Still, I had to speak, opting then to set all else aside for a time as I chose my words, "I'm not _expecting_ anything. I just wanted to see how you're holding up. So did Nadir, but - "

" - Did Khan tell you anything?"

I was confused by what almost seemed to be an element of suspicion in his tone, distantly wondering what he was hiding, but shook my head regardless, "No, but he's worried."

"Why worry?" Erik snapped, the small semblance of calm he had managed to maintain until then receding almost instantly in the wake of what I'd said, giving way to a sharp sarcasm that intended to hurt. And then offered a humorless laugh, a loud and sharp sound so unlike his own voice, looking at me through bloodshot eyes. He had always been so composed, in control of himself, save for so few occasions. It was absolutely unnerving to see him in the state he was in then. He looked so lost, so broken - his resentment for the overlying circumstances was almost palpable as he shook his head sadly, and I could almost feel my sympathy returning in full force - until he spoke again, "I'm doing a hell of a lot better than the kid that got killed today, right? At least I'm not the one lying in the morgue of that filthy-ass hospital," then he shook his head and added dismissively, "Will you just fucking _drop it_?"

And I bristled at that, losing my patience once and for all before I could remember why I was there to begin with, "Look, if you don't want to talk about today and decompress with me, that's fine. But you know what? I'm _not_ going to pretend you didn't treat me the way you did. You _still_ are. Do you even feel bad about it?" I asked, my voice growing louder with each word even as I sincerely expected an answer. And although he didn't respond then, an unmistakable flash in his eyes told me that he did, in fact, feel some remorse - very much so. Why he didn't just say so was beyond me, and once again I let my frustration supersede all else. I stalked over to the countertop, settling myself opposite to where he stood, and spoke bitterly, "I was worried about you, Erik. I feel like shit, and obviously you do, too. And I thought that _maybe_ we wouldn't have to deal with this alone. But now I'm wondering why I even came over in the first place."

" _I_ really don't know," he said, leaning over the counter and bringing the glass to his lips, pausing and stalling the gesture with mock-thoughtfulness before meeting my eyes, "Maybe you're just incredibly foolish, because I didn't _ask_ you to come."

"It wasn't foolishness," I scoffed, returning his glare, "I did it because I care about you."

He shook his head and closed his eyes, "Don't say that. Just...stop. Stop talking," he said distantly, as if forgetting that it was only the two of us there, then looked at me again and continued sharply, his temper obviously rising once more, "Please, just get out."

" _No_. Not until - "

But before I could finish speaking, he stood up straight, quickly downed the rest of his drink, and then slammed the now-empty tumbler down onto the countertop as he shouted, "I said _get the fuck out_!"

With a small shriek at the violent reaction as I jumped several paces away from him, I nearly did just as he demanded - there was a terrifying instant wherein I almost believed that he might actually hurt me, even if that as-yet unnamed harm was entirely involuntarily on his part. That aspect of the situation didn't matter, I simply no longer wanted to be there with him, not caring what brought me to his doorstep in the first place. But the glass shattered from the impact beneath his shaking hand, and all at once I was immediately aware of the blood on the countertop beneath the wreckage, aware of the way he immediately drew back and stared at the slice in his flesh with an expression of mingled pain and disbelief.

And I knew then that he couldn't be left alone; I couldn't bring myself to do that to him. I was only just beginning to realize that he was _far_ more drunk and unsettled than he appeared, how heavily he leaned against the surface of the counter for stability. If necessary, I could call for help and defend myself if remaining with him put me in any danger - thanks to my father's insistence that I learn and continually practice self-defense, I could readily protect myself if Erik's temper continued to spin out of control. But in spite of the anger I felt in the face of his transgressions against me, I still cared about the man behind the misplaced rage, and as such I just couldn't find it in myself to leave him in the state he was in - physical or otherwise.

So, making up my mind, I began gently, "Erik, let me help - "

" - Get him out," he interrupted, reaching into a drawer for a dish towel and indicating the dog, still hovering nervously nearby, "Please, I don't want him stepping on the glass."

"It's fine," I said, hoping to keep my voice steady and reassuring as I ushered the service animal away from the few shards of glass that had fallen onto the floor, "I've got him."

Thinking quickly - more so now that I was away from the scene in the kitchen - I decided to put Rex into one of the nearly-empty bedrooms upstairs rather than sending him out to the back yard, knowing that it would be a little while before he could safely walk around the lower level of the house and not wanting to have him out in the snow during that time. It was difficult to get him to comply with my commands, to convince him to follow me when the owner he was dedicated to taking care of was so clearly in distress - but I couldn't argue with Erik's logic, either, even as his behavior had contrarily been so erratic. In this particular case at least, he was making sense.

By the time I did as requested and made my way back to the kitchen just moments later, Erik had wound the towel tightly around his injured hand, using the other to awkwardly attempt to brush the shining pieces of broken glass on the countertop into one place.

"I'm so sorry," he said brusquely - but beyond that succinct apology, he barely seemed to acknowledge me as I approached. I had to be extremely mindful not to let that intentional distance hurt my feelings.

"Stop. Just wait," I said, pulling his good hand away and nodding toward the other one, "You need to let me look at that."

"I can handle it."

"No, you can't," I said firmly, unwilling to be persuaded to leave him to his own devices - but instead of continuing to argue with me as I had dreaded, he finally relented.

He allowed me - albeit not entirely without a groan of stubbornness on his part - to lead him to the sink, flinching only slightly when the steady stream of warm water came into contact with his injury. Otherwise, he remained silent, clearly embarrassed by what he'd done; and for that reason, I chose not to comment further. Doing so wouldn't do either of us any good then, and in being perfectly honest, my mind was still struggling to catch up with everything that had just happened. The day as a whole had been troubling enough to begin with - Erik's behavior was only adding to our shared distress. Shaking my head, I remind myself to focus on my task, rather than getting bogged down by anything else of immediate concern just yet. At any rate, and by no small miracle, the cut on his palm wasn't nearly as bad as I'd first assumed - the amount of blood leaving the wound made it appear far deeper than it was. But in reality, it truly was manageable, and I breathed a sigh of relief that we wouldn't need to make a visit to the local emergency room.

Once I was satisfied that the cut was cleared of any glass fragments and cleaned thoroughly enough, I began to ask, "Do you have any bandaids, or - "

" - I have gauze and tape," Erik muttered, nodding toward another of the lower cabinet drawers across from where we stood.

I laughed humorlessly at that, "Gauze and tape," I repeated, gathering the necessary first-aid items and leading him over to the dining room table so that I could put the bandaging in place properly, "Typical surgeon, everything has to be so damn complicated."

"It's one of my few charms," he said flatly as he sat beside me, "One of _very_ few."

I looked at him directly as I settled down and set to work wrapping his hand, expecting to see at least a half-smile at his attempt at humor - but his expression remained somber, and I couldn't help the pity I felt for him in that instant. And while I would never admit as much to him, simply because I knew he'd never be able to accept it, that was another part of what compelled me to stay with him when any sense of reason would have dictated otherwise. I knew without a doubt - certainly now that he had calmed down considerably since his outburst - that he wouldn't hurt me, that the worst of this part of the storm had passed, and now it was only a matter of continuing to keep him calm to put this nightmarish day behind us. The challenge that remained, I was sure, would be compelling him to be honest with me for the duration of our time together, however long that would prove to be. As it stood, I could only hope that he wouldn't continue arguing with me to leave - I had no intention of doing so any time soon, and he would make life easier for the both of us if he would just allow that.

When the makeshift bandage was completed, he flexed his hand - wincing at the pain the movement obviously caused him - but said no more. And so, in response to his silence, in turn I wordlessly forced him to remain seated as I found a broom, sweeping any and all of the glass that had fallen to the floor as carefully as I could.

"Do you do this often?" I asked as I cleaned.

"Do what, get piss-drunk and act like a fucking lunatic?"

"I'm being serious. I thought you didn't drink..." I began, but hesitated when I turned and looked more closely at him. He was shaking - now noticeably more so than when I was wrapping his hand - and his breathing had grown much more irregular than it had been at the outset of this encounter. Altogether, he looked exceedingly uncomfortable, to the point that I immediately worried about the cause of these inexplicable symptoms. I'd never seen them in him before, and if nothing else, I was sure that they weren't caused by his anxiety at all. Now more concerned with his physical wellbeing than anything else, I quickly made my way over to stand in front of him, taking his chin in my hand to force him to look squarely at me and asking sharply, "Are you alright?"

"Fine. I'm fine," he said, even as he shook off the direct contact from me, leaned over, and held his head in his hands.

"You're not _fine_. Why are you shaking so badly? What's going on?" I asked, capturing his uninjured hand to indicate what I meant.

"My meds..." he said breathlessly, but otherwise seemed unable to complete his train of thought from there.

Attempting to piece his words together, I asked, "What do you need?"

"No," he shook his head, looking up and meeting my eyes once again, "I mean I can't be drinking with them."

I went almost completely still, slowly taking in his words and then taken aback by the thinly veiled admission of his carelessness, "Are you serious?"

" _Why_ would I joke about that?"

"That's a good way to kill yourself, Erik," I snapped.

"I wouldn't say it's a _good_ way to kill myself - "

" - Is that why you don't drink?" I demanded, acutely aware that I was nearly yelling, but making no attempt to lower my voice even so, "Because of the drug interaction?"

"That's...part of it," he said, then added almost shamefully, "I _hadn't_ been, for a while..."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I quit drinking. I had to, I shouldn't be doing it at all," he murmured, then cast me a meaningful look, "I _can't_."

Silence surrounded us for a time as I struggled to capture the underlying purpose of his softly uttered words, the larger truth of yet another admission that he seemed entirely unwilling to part with. And then, all at once, the realization of the truth he held onto struck me almost forcefully, the understanding of what exactly was out of place that I had been working so desperately to find earlier surrounding me like a flash of lightning. And I felt so incredibly stupid then for not being able to grasp it far sooner - suddenly, so much more about him made sense to me, so many details gained a dark context that I was only just beginning to comprehend. I absolutely couldn't believe that I hadn't noticed what exactly was amiss before that moment - even before that day.

"This is a problem for you, isn't it?" I asked, nearly whispering now, dreading his response even as I was sure that I already knew the answer.

"Christine - "

" - _Tell me_ ," I snapped a bit louder, knowing full well that he was still going to attempt to evade the question, the entire topic for as long as he could possibly manage. And I adamantly refused to let that happen again, to let him keep hiding so many key elements of himself from me. He had done so far too many times before, and we just couldn't keep going on in that capacity - not if either of us wanted or expected the friendship to remain intact. So I continued on, matching his stubbornness with a renewed streak of my own, "Damn it, I'm _tired_ of getting half the truth from you!"

"Alright," he sighed, clearly hesitating, but finally responded, "Yes, it is a problem...I'm an alcoholic."

I closed my eyes at his words, at the title that had likely haunted him for years. My heart completely sank at that verbal confirmation of my demand, but I wasn't going to gloss over the issue just because he'd finally been cowed into being honest with me. Rather, I opened my eyes again and walked determinedly away from him - back to the countertop where the bottle of Jack remained, still open and waiting to be consumed by someone that truly needed to keep as far away from its contents as humanly possible. Lifting the sizeable bottle for Erik to see himself, I said clearly, "Then you have _no_ business with this."

And without a second thought, I turned and poured the amber liquid down the sink.

" _That's_ a bit wasteful, isn't it?" he asked with indignant sarcasm, though he made no move to stand and halt my progress.

Still, my stance had to be known, "Erik, I _sincerely_ don't give a fuck. I'll pay you back for this if it really matters to you," I added, nodding to the now-empty bottle, "But I really don't care if this is going to waste. Though, you didn't leave that much to waste to begin with anyway."

"Forget it, then. It _doesn't_ matter," he said wearily, still sitting at the table - and seemingly attempting to cease the sporadic and more obvious movement of his hands. And it was only in once again witnessing his continued trembling and self-inflicted discomfort that I remembered to return to the moments before my grand gesture.

Approaching him again, I asked in the most professional manner I could summon, "What meds are you on? What are they for?"

"Wellbutrin. For depression, technically."

"Let me see the bottle," I said. And once again he surprised me by choosing not to argue, moving instead to retrieve the requested item from a high cabinet. He handed it to me before sitting down again, and I read the label quickly as he did so. Processing the information printed, I was able to determine that if he was taking the dose listed as he was supposed to, it seemed that he was extremely sensitive to the known side-effects. That would account for his decline since I'd first arrived, at least. But regardless, he still should've known better than to act as he had at all. _He's a doctor, for God's sake,_ I thought in exasperation, wanting to roll my eyes at the idea, but bit the desire back as soon as it arose. Knowing what I did now, I continued instead, "Was the bottle of Jack full when you started on it?"

"Yes."

"When did you get it? I mean, you didn't drive drunk, right?"

" _No_ , of course not," he insisted quietly, though with so much sincerity that I believed his words even before he continued, "I've worked on enough of the drunks that the EMTs have to scrape off the roads to know not to be _that_ reckless."

"At least you have half a brain left, then."

"And thank the good Lord for that," he replied, letting his accent paint his voice strongly as he smiled sardonically, "So if you're done with your interrogation, can I ask again if you'll leave? I think I've had all the socialization I can handle today."

"You _can't_ be serious," I said with a humorless laugh, then added firmly, "Absolutely not, Erik. I need to stay here at least long enough to make sure you don't stroke out and die because you decided to mix your antidepressants with alcohol."

He scoffed, crossing his arms as he said, "You don't need to be so dramatic. Go ahead and go home, Christine. I'll be fine."

"Are you still having trouble breathing?" I asked, though doing so was unnecessary - the continued tremor in his voice and unsteadiness of his body gave me my answer long before he could attempt to say otherwise. He just glowered at me in his obvious defeat. Satisfied by the meaning of his silence, I said determinedly, "Then I'm staying."

~~oOo~~

There was a point only a short time later - once the dust settled between us and I'd made my intentions to remain in Schaumburg for the rest of the night unwaveringly clear - when Erik asked that Rex be brought back downstairs. It was a small gesture on his part to slowly establish a more reasonable pattern of communication, but progress just the same where little else could be found. As such and for the sake of his sustained restlessness, I agreed to the request immediately, knowing all at once that the service dog would be immensely helpful right now. I needed every bit of help I could get, I was sure.

Erik and I had finally decided to move into the living room by then, yet even the change in location to a relatively more peaceful part of the house did little to calm my own nerves - nevermind how uncomfortable and agitated he still appeared. He was only marginally more sober than when I'd first arrived, still shaking very badly even as he continued to try to control himself, his breath catching at odd intervals all the while; it took every last ounce of strength I possessed to remember everything that I had learned so far in med school in order to keep a clear head, to be able to competently help him if he continued to decline. Even if he protested - which I was sure he would - I was prepared to call an ambulance if it came down to that. But mercifully, he wasn't that far gone just yet; in the meantime, and in a steadfast effort to prevent that call or any other dire outcome, I knew I needed to be proactive in this situation. I was outwardly calm by virtue of necessity, yet completely terrified at every moment. But first and foremost, his health and safety needed to continue to be managed - everything else could wait.

And so, as he sat on the couch, arms crossed and eyes tightly closed, I took a deep breath and oriented myself to what came next.

"You need to sober up," I determined, deeming that idea as a fair enough starting point as I continued, "I'm getting us some coffee."

"It doesn't actually work that way, you know," he called as I left the room, but said no more beyond that flash of sarcasm.

Silence stretched on throughout the rooms between us as I set up the coffee maker, making sure the decaf grounds in the basket still created as strong of a brew as possible. From there, I sent a text to Dr. Khan, updating him in clipped sentences on everything that had happened since we last spoke and confirming that I was doing everything right so far. He responded quickly that I was, given certain extenuating circumstances, following up by asking whether or not he should come over as well. Deciding quickly, I ultimately declined the offer - I didn't feel that bombarding Erik with yet another unwelcomed guest would benefit any of us right now. Rather, I simply promised to keep Nadir informed at every step and to seek outside help if it was absolutely required, and at the end of the exchange each of us was satisfied with that tentative plan.

Once my messages were sent and the coffee maker slowly hummed to life - the only distinguishable noise in the relatively quiet room - it occurred to me just how exhausted I was, more physically and mentally drained than I'd felt for quite some time. Sighing, I leaned heavily against the countertop where Erik stood not so long ago.

And I realized as I did so that I _could_ have waited with him in the living room for the coffee to brew, but it seemed that I was avoiding being in the same space as him for the moment. All things considered, I was just too overwhelmed to attempt to carry on even an indifferent, unrelated conversation with him. I didn't really know how to do so then - I only knew that the heated discussion we'd held before was certainly nowhere near being finished, and I had no idea what else to expect between us, nor exactly how to pick up where we left off. I couldn't even definitively say what all we had spoken about from the start to the abrupt stalling of our words - so much had happened since my arrival, all of it taking place too fast to be able to dissect just yet. But beyond those cursory judgements, I was at a loss regarding just how to move forward.

I took another deep breath as I considered this, bracing myself for the night ahead as I did so. Comparatively steadier now after regaining a small bit of composure, I looked out across the kitchen and through the dining room window, just barely able to see into the evening outside beyond my hazy reflection cast by the light overhead. As I'd predicted during my drive, it was snowing by then; I absently wondered exactly when the storm had even started, how long it would last. But in the end, I put that out of mind quickly; for the time being, so long as the snowfall wasn't too heavy, it was irrelevant. And anyway, my attention was soon directed elsewhere. I was pulled from my thoughts when the coffee maker had finished its work, sounding four sharp beeps when the water was completely emptied from the reservoir, and I quickly set out to prepare our drinks and take them into the living room.

Erik was more alert now - at least outwardly, although his tremors stubbornly remained, easing off only gradually as time separated him from his last drink. At some point during my absence, he'd moved from his formerly tense position on the couch to take out his phone. He was leaning forward with the device in his hands when I approached him, the steady brightness of the screen illuminating his face as he focused on whatever held his attention.

"What're you doing?" I asked when I returned, passing his mug to him and hoping that my forced casualness wasn't too obvious.

That seemed the case as he set the coffee down and offered a noncommittal response, "Sending a message."

"I hope you're thanking Nadir for his concern," I chided pointedly, knowing that there would be only one other person besides myself that Erik would choose to reach out to then.

And once again, it seemed that my assumption was correct, "I'm telling him off for it, actually," he said, and recalling past interactions between the two men, I didn't doubt his words.

"Just drink your coffee."

With a long-suffering sigh, he set his phone aside and took up his coffee cup from where he'd just abandoned it on the end table. I chose to ignore his continued childish behavior then - it really wasn't worth the argument - instead focusing on settling down on the couch beside him, keeping a respectable distance yet staying near enough to be able to closely observe him.

" _This_ is ridiculous," he said after taking a drink, and I nearly snapped at him again before I realized that he was attempting humor at the amount of half-and-half I'd given him, "I didn't realize you were trying to get me to throw up."

"Knock it off," I said wearily, though more gently now, "You need something in your stomach besides whiskey and bean water."

"Right," he scoffed, but dropped the subject from there.

More silence now - we simply coexisted side-by-side for a time, each of us nursing our drinks and lost in our respective thoughts as Rex curled up on the floor at our feet. It was only the sound of Erik setting his mug on the table once more that drew my attention back to him entirely. He'd leaned back again, resting his head heavily against the cushions and seemingly as exhausted as I was; and not for the first time I was struck by his appearance, by the obvious weight on his shoulders that had manifested itself so violently that night. Without pausing to think about what I was doing, without any desire to even stop myself, I moved to brush the stray locks of hair away from his forehead, the dark strands disheveled after such a chaotic evening. He opened his eyes then and met mine, and only in that moment did they seem to hold even the smallest semblance of calm - only to be swiftly overtaken in the next instant by the remorse and embarrassment he'd conveyed earlier. And once again my heart ached for him, for the overall circumstances that had brought us together so painfully and unwillingly then.

"I really am sorry, Christine, he said softly, capturing my hand firmly before I could take it away altogether, "For everything."

I shook my head, not yet ready to have that conversation, yet still intertwining our fingers in a gesture of affection as I spoke, "We'll talk about it later. Are you feeling any better?"

"I don't know. A bit, I guess. But not enough...It's hard to describe."

"Why don't we lay down," I suggested, nodding to the floor before us. I'd remembered the way he'd soothed my unease after the power outage over New Year's Eve, how simple yet effective his unconventional method of relaxation had been in the face of my own anxiety that night. And while I knew the gravity of the two situations between New Year's and today hardly compared to one another, I now drew inspiration from Erik's past help, seeing it as a means to settle him down that much further, a familiar way to help him gain some peace of mind.

He only nodded in reply, but his assent was clear as he moved slowly from the couch to lie down just in front of it, and I quickly followed suit.

When we were situated closely next to each other - a near-mirror image of that first time weeks before - I turned my head to face him and asked softly, "This usually helps, doesn't it?"

"Not when the room is spinning," he said, his eyes shut tightly once more.

"Do you need to get up again?"

"I'm fine. Just stay with me, alright?" he asked, his voice almost pleading as he both openly accepted and requested my presence for the first time that night - I sincerely regretted that it had taken so much to get him to that point, but I would be lying if I didn't admit that I was relieved to hear the words, to know that he actually wanted me there with him. No matter how hesitant he'd initially been to accept even the slightest form of help, I had witnessed the same horrors that day as he had, still struggled with the memories they left behind, and as such I knew that I needed his company just as strongly as he needed mine; that much was certain.

"I'll stay," I said, keeping my tone soft for his sake and turning onto my side to reach out slowly and check his pulse. To my immense relief, though it was still faster than normal, it _had_ slowed considerably; I offered a silent prayer of thanks for that small step toward progress, knowing then that such improvements would continue if we were both mindful to encourage them. The more he sobered up, the better he was faring, and the evidence of that lifted a substantial amount of worry from my conscience. Physically, he was improving steadily - it was less likely than before that he would end up in the emergency room for the serious mistake he'd made with his antidepressants.

Yet even so, I knew that this was only half the battle. Regardless of his breath and tremors slowing, that distinctly haunted look remained in his eyes; the events of the day were still very close to the forefront of his thoughts. And they wouldn't be so easy to dismiss, nor should they be ignored altogether - I understood both prospects well enough firsthand.

Erik turned over as well, interrupting my reflections and whispering, "Thank you."

And I just nodded in return, not thinking it necessary to speak further then and break the relative calm we'd finally regained between us. We remained there on the floor in that fragile silence, lying on our sides and facing each other; each set of eyes was focused on our hands now clasped between us, the contact serving as an unspoken means to anchor us back to reality. I wanted to believe then that it would last - but when considering what loomed just outside of what we were willing to broach then, I knew better. Neither of us acknowledged as much out loud, but the cold truth was that it was only a matter of time before the hammer fell and we had to face the recent past once again. The problem remaining was that I wasn't sure how to do so, nor how anything positive could possibly come from taking that path.

But it was all just too painful and daunting to consider then - not when my nerves were still so frayed and Erik had only just begun to significantly settle down. Rather, I simply closed my eyes, willing the rest of the world beyond those moments to pause so that I could somehow catch up to it all. Only then, I was sure, could I move forward and hope that Erik might be able to find it in himself to follow close behind me.

~~oOo~~

The snowstorm steadily whirling outside wasn't so bad that we risked losing power again - certainly not as we had weeks ago - but regardless, Erik didn't want to take the chance of being rendered unprepared if the weather _did_ happen to take an unexpected turn. We were roused from our places on the floor, not even an hour or so after existing together there in a quiet near-doze, by his desire to ensure that the emergency lights were in place and to turn up the furnace, all long-practiced measures for safely living through winters in that part of the country. And as he stiffly got up and regained his balance before setting to work, a part of me believed that once he was almost entirely sober and thinking relatively more clearly, he wanted to find the simplest way possible to regain control him himself and his surroundings - to make up for what he had done earlier. It would still need to be addressed more seriously, but I didn't object to his actions now; if any sort of productive activity continued to benefit him, then all the better.

In the meantime, there came a point when we both realized that neither of us had eaten anything since early in our shifts at the hospital, and upon making that discovery, we chose to eat dinner a short time later - though that small meal really just consisted of cold cereal and very little else; it wasn't terribly substantial, but it was better than nothing, and neither of us seemed to be able to build enough ambition to attempt anything else. And moreover, having dinner together kept us busy, kept us faithful to the unspoken promise to hold off on heavier conversations for the time being. It seemed that Erik was at about as much of a loss regarding how to move forward as I was; there was now a distinct sense of awkwardness that tinged our limited interactions, but that couldn't be avoided just the same. It was as-yet too difficult to gauge what topics could reasonably be approached then.

His demeanor now, though outwardly calm and focused, was edged with a sort of stoicism that continuously spoke of larger issues for him. But while his conduct earlier had certainly been unsettling for me to experience alongside him, and while his current calmness was of an immense relief, the stark contrast between past and present was not lost upon me; it reflected so much more of the grander picture. Once again, I knew that this current behavior was carefully considered and born of necessity, a veneer of pacificity to fend off the distress that relentlessly chased him. It was something else on a long list of problems gathered throughout the day that needed to be considered - so much so that, by the time we finished our near-silent meal and made our way almost aimlessly back to the living room, I finally decided that enough was enough. Dancing around what had happened that day and outright ignoring it wasn't helping either of us whatsoever, and I was tired of feeling as though I was carrying that burden all on my own. He certainly held his fair share, but I needed the catharsis of speaking to another human being that knew exactly what I was going through.

Determined to break the silence as I collapsed on the couch again with a heavy sigh, I noted that Erik was kneeling in front of the fireplace, methodically arranging logs on top of the grate now _just in case_.

"Do you think the power will get knocked out again?" I asked, opening a dialogue on the most neutral ground I could find.

"Probably not," he responded as he stood upright, "I just feel better having these set up," he paused, hesitating before asking, "Is it safe to assume you still want to stay over?"

"I think that's the wisest thing to do right now," I said firmly, preempting any protests he might have decided to make concerning my company and his ability to be by himself that night. I sincerely didn't want to rudely impose, but instinct told me I was right in my decision to stay. He _was_ doing better in many senses, but not quite entirely, and I didn't necessarily trust his returned sobriety to be the end of this particular ordeal just yet. I knew him better than to make any assumptions in that regard. But I chose to spare him the whole of an explanation - instead, I opted to level him a meaningful look, one to match his stubbornness that didn't lend to any room for arguments on his part, and he had the good sense to accept that much and leave the subject alone from there.

But if he thought that this was all I planned to say to him, he was wrong. At any rate, he made no indication that he was going to bar communication between us entirely during my stay, and I took that as a sign to keep carrying on. I sat up straight in the wake of our brief exchange, meaning the gesture to be an invitation for him to join me again - during which I hoped he didn't see my desperation for him to cooperate. To my relief, he did so without comment.

"You know," I admonished as he settled down, "You're lucky you didn't have a seizure."

"I _do_ know that. Nadir said the same thing," he responded, holding up his phone to illustrate his point, almost smirking as he added, "Just far less politely than you did. He's pretty pissed off."

"I'm sure its not that he's pissed off. He was just afraid. Obviously he suspected you'd do something like this."

He rolled his eyes, almost seemingly without realizing that he'd done so as he said, "Right, so he sent me a baby-sitter."

"That's not what happened," I said defensively, hurt by his words when so recently he had asked me to stay with him, "I was going to come out here _before_ I saw him."

"Christine, I'm glad you're here," Erik said slowly, clearly making sure I understood that he spoke the truth, and I gradually relaxed as he continued, "I just don't like the reason. But I do appreciate your staying, alright?"

I sighed again, now admitting softly, "I almost left, you know. When you broke the glass."

He nodded, "I wouldn't have blamed you if you had."

"I'm still not thrilled with what you said to me."

"I know, sweetheart," he said, then closed his eyes remorsefully when he realized that he'd misspoken then, "I'm sorry. It's hard to set that torch down."

"I didn't realize you still carried a torch for me," I murmured, not quite expecting his words and meeting his eyes, trying to interpret what exactly I found there.

But, of course, he was still guarded where our relationship was concerned, and he didn't reply directly to what I'd said, what I'd hinted at uncovering - rather, he held my gaze only a moment longer, a meaningful look unintentionally overtaking his eyes before he schooled his features into neutrality once more and asked, "You said earlier that you wanted to decompress from today, right?" then continued at my affirmative nod, "I don't even want to think about it. I _tried_ not to…"

"And that's why you came home and got drunk," I said softly, following his line of thinking easily enough. He didn't respond, but he truly didn't need to - his desire to obliterate the day from memory altogether was one I that shared strongly. But the difference between us was that I simply hadn't chosen to act on that impulse, nor would I have done so in such a destructive manner. I wasn't an alcoholic, my first instinct wasn't to lay my pain to rest with the assistance of a shot glass. But at some point in his life, something had obviously gone very wrong, and he succumbed to the pull of addiction, effectively killing the balance between casual, healthy consumption and this complete drive toward self-destruction. Considering this, I wondered then how much success he'd so shortsightedly forfeited in his dejection as I ventured carefully, "How long had you been sober?"

He hesitated, seemingly debating with himself over whether or not to reply directly before he said, "A year or so, until around last September. Then a few weeks before now."

"And then today happened, right?"

"Exactly," he sighed, leaning back to look at the ceiling, "And I'm still so _goddamn_ angry about it. All of this was so…appalling"

"I thought the same thing earlier," I said, vividly remembering how I'd felt as the horrible details of Tamara's background steadily came to light, how utterly sickened I'd felt on her behalf. Recalling that in those moments, I wrapped my arms around myself tightly, wishing that the images would recede immediately. As it stood, it seemed almost impossible to let them go.

Noticing my discomfort, Erik moved to sit closer to me as he nodded in agreement, remaining silent by my side for an instant before saying, "It goes against our oath to play God, but there are times that it's tempting. Like today. I would've just as soon let that fucking pervert die," he said bitterly, "And I couldn't...I had to be the one to help keep him alive."

"That's probably why they gave his case to you, though. I don't think anyone else could admit what you just did and still do the job properly," I reasoned, hoping that the logic at play here would ease his conscience somehow, even just a bit, "You have the experience for it. I'm sure he's not the first of...of this kind of person you've dealt with."

"He's not. But it's so much harder to deal with them in the ER," he explained, "Up in surgery, I never had to actually talk to them, or listen to them try to justify what they've done. I just fix them up and move along. I hate helping them, but it's more...I don't know, palatable to do it indirectly."

"But we couldn't help Tamara. _That's_ what keeps getting me," I said, my voice finally breaking under the weight of the day.

Erik responded to my sadness quickly then, almost without thinking as I had earlier. He took me into his arms much as he had on New Year's; and he held me in that same position, his arms securely over my shoulders, my legs resting over his - yet this time was infinitely more gentle, the charge of our shared emotions dulled substantially now under vastly different circumstances. This wasn't purely a gesture of newly-acknowledged romance, but rather of genuine friendship, just as the embrace we'd shared that day at the hospital had been. And as I reflected upon these details, I was also becoming more aware of the sharp, shuddering breath he took now, seemingly to grasp at the composure he'd cultivated and to prevent the tears that had been threatening us both all day. I knew it had taken so much effort for him to admit to everything he just had - to be willing to speak openly at all - and I was silently grateful that he'd finally found the willpower to do so. Neither of us felt better then, but this was far more favorable to the alternative that was continuously grating at us.

I relaxed further into his embrace, and in response to my movement he tilted his head and rested it on mine. It was such a familiar gesture, yet my heart ached for it even as I reveled in the contact: because I knew without needing to be reminded that nothing more would come of that display of affection. But I forced myself past that notion, and we were just silent again for a time, the weight of tragedy settling on us, around us - all in a way that no other words could seem to reach then. Not in any sense that would bring comfort yet, at least. _That_ would be hard-won, I was sure.

"I should've taken her case," he said remorsefully after several long moments spent in that manner, his voice low with the returning resentment he harbored, "I should've _insisted_. Lucas botched that whole thing."

I shook my head, feeling that it was only fair to defend my surgical resident when he couldn't do so himself, "Everyone kept saying it was unavoidable."

"No, it was a preventable complication to that specific treatment plan. I _knew_ that, but I let them send me out anyway."

Sensing his grief coming to a head once more, I pulled away just enough to face him directly as I asked, "Do you blame yourself for Tamara's death?"

And with unmasked pain in his eyes, he responded emphatically, "Yes, I do. She was just a little girl that was tortured for _so long_ , and then she died the day she was rescued. _Yes_ , I blame myself for that outcome. I was _there_ , Christine. I was supposed to fix it. She died for nothing."

"But it _wasn't_ your fault."

He scoffed, slowly pulling his arms away until his hands only rested loosely on either side of me. And I was sure that he had no idea how alone I felt when he'd done so as he said, "Even if it wasn't, it's part of the reason I hate this job sometimes. Today's been the worst in a while. What that man did, I can't forgive. And he won't be the last. I think it just tells me that there's nothing left to hope for, and I'm _so_ _tired_ of carrying that."

"You have to be able to leave that all at work, though," I said weakly, remembering how often he'd tried to explain that point of practicing medicine to me in the past, yet knowing it wasn't that simple, either. It was incredibly disturbing to realize in those moments that even a seasoned physician could reach a time in their career when everything they witnessed latched onto their hearts so forcefully - yet that seemed to be exactly what had happened to Erik that day, and as he'd said, this likely wouldn't be the last such incident for him. I might be fortunate enough to be spared from quite that much reality in the field of oncology - _at least_ regarding the violence of human nature - but I knew without a doubt that I'd never forget everything I'd seen since starting this part of my education. I had no idea what to do with that truth.

"Fat lot of good leaving it does," Erik muttered - completely ignorant to my thoughts yet capturing my renewed hopelessness so well with his crass response - then spoke more clearly, "That doesn't really apply here anyway. It's one thing when a patient dies after suffering an illness. It's a mercy then. _This_ was just unnecessary and brutal."

"It was," I offered before insisting evenly, hoping that he'd just believe me once and for all, for both our sakes, "But it wasn't your fault."

He only laughed humorlessly, clearly unwilling to accept that he didn't deserve to take the blame in this situation. He was justifiably angry with Tamara's kidnapper, yet he simultaneously felt that he'd been the one responsible for failing to right the disgusting wrong that the man had committed against the child. Erik wasn't one to accept a defeat like that without a fight, without feeling pain for the loss - as I'd suspected, this case would haunt him, and nothing I said then would change that. And I _hated_ my own ineffectiveness - my inability to make a difference where Tamara was concerned, where Erik was concerned and drowning in the overall circumstances was taunting me with my inexperience. Once again, I had no idea what to do, how to move forward. I only knew that I was angry, and I had no outlet for that anger.

The room was incredibly tense after that, each of us remaining almost entirely immobile even as we still sat together on the couch - the waning embrace had suddenly become a mockery of the intimacy that we'd once shared in body and mind, of the friendship we'd held now growing so strained by everything that happened that neither of us had wanted to be a part of anymore - but even so, that heavy tension didn't remain in that awful stasis for long.

After shaking his head as if doing so could clear his mind, Erik continued softly, "I'm sorry you had to see me like you did today. I'm sorry about _everything_. If nothing else, I didn't want you to know about the drinking."

"Hiding it wasn't doing you any favors."

He shrugged tersely, "Still, it's not something you should've had to witness."

"Is that out of embarrassment," I began, letting my misplaced anger against the world affect my tone of voice, creating a more defiant quality than I'd intended, "Or to spare me?"

"Both."

I rolled my eyes, "I'm a big girl, Erik. I've known alcoholics before."

"But does it make more sense now why I don't want to pursue anything else with you?" he asked gravely, the question startling me even as he stood up abruptly - so much so that Rex came running back into the room, sensing the obvious shift in composure taking place within his owner again. Erik acknowledged the dog briefly before turning back to me; and meeting his eyes, I stood to face him in response, in return for his sudden abandonment. I refused to remain seated if doing so made me appear even the least bit submissive. I was honestly having trouble keeping up with the trajectory of this conversation; but I wasn't willing to let him devolve again, even as my own emotions were beginning to - certainly not if doing so meant he assumed that he could make these determinations for the both of us again. He could speak for himself, but he needed to realize that I could do so just as effectively as well. If he wanted to bring the specifics of our relationship into play now, then that was _just fine_. I'd take whatever he chose to hurl at me - anything to keep the rest of the day as far from my mind as possible.

Yet to my surprise, he said softly instead, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have - "

" - _No_ , you said what you said," I snapped, now feeling some unnamed need to see this vein of discussion through to the end - no matter what that end proved to be, "Don't back out now just because you don't want to hurt my feelings."

"But I will hurt you, though," he said almost pleadingly, "It's not just about your feelings, Christine. I can barely handle myself, alright? I wasn't exaggerating all those times I said this was complicated, and I don't want to drag you into my problems. _That's_ why I've been trying to avoid this," he said, gesturing between us as he spoke.

"I _understand_ that," I said, standing face-to-face with him in this emotional standoff and challenging him with my determination as I continued, "But that doesn't mean I agree with it."

"I'm not asking you to agree," he said, crossing his arms defensively and attempting to turn away, "Just to accept it."

But I caught his arm before he could successfully retreat, asking, "Is this just because you're an alcoholic?"

"That's part of it."

"Then what else is there?" I demanded, immediately having to remind myself to remain calm, to keep my voice even, "Why can't you just tell me everything and be done with it?"

"Do I know everything about _you_?" he asked, another challenge of his own.

And quickly guessing at the logic he was attempting to employ in his defense, I hesitated before responding, "No…you don't."

"Then it's a moot point."

"No it _isn't_ , because I'm not the one withholding the chance," I countered, "I'm not asking for anything right now, Erik. Only for you to be honest."

"I _have_ been."

"No, you haven't. Not entirely."

He sighed, "Fine, that's fair, but - "

" - But _nothing_. I can handle whatever you tell me. It can't be as bad as you want me to believe."

He shook his head, attempting to break eye-contact as he said, "You don't know that."

"I do," I insisted, forcing him to look at me again, "Because I know you."

"You _don't_ know me, though," he snapped, clearly losing his patience at my unwillingness to accept his continued excuses, "You might think you see a good person here in me, but I see a _fucking_ _trainwreck_. You don't want to know why, and you don't want anything I can give you, honey. And I hate that I can't do anything about it."

" _Won't_ ," I corrected.

"Fine," said again, allowing my pointed response with a sardonic smile. Then he forced the expression away before adding seriously, "But for good reason. I just want to protect you from - "

" - _Why_ are you so hellbent on protecting me, though?" I interrupted, frustrated beyond words that he would even consider that I couldn't take care of myself, that I couldn't make my own rational judgements where he was concerned.

He sighed, "Can't you just accept that I am? Don't make me say why."

"You have to. Why - "

" - _Fuck_! It's because I love you, Christine," he confessed in a heated rush, before ultimately choosing to look away once again in the next instant, almost shamefully as he did so.

And I froze then, closing my eyes at his words, at the significance of that admission; it was monumental, and I was more relieved than I could describe to finally hear what had remained so bitterly unspoken between us until then - to finally be assured that I wasn't misguided for carrying that same affection for him all along. Yet even so, dread simultaneously washed over me, shattering my brief and powerful elation. Because I had suspected that he loved me, had sworn I'd seen it in his eyes and wished for it to be true - but his obvious hesitance to accept the truth he'd just voiced made me certain that his declaration wouldn't be followed with ease for either of us. He wouldn't allow it to be easy if resistance held even the smallest chance of sparing my heart - even if the price was breaking his own.

But still, I _knew_ that I had to press on - for better or worse, there was absolutely no going back now. Certainly not after everything we'd been through.

So I responded with more confidence than I felt, regardless of the honesty behind my words, "I love you too, Erik."

And he closed his eyes tightly as his face fell, along with any lingering hope I might have held onto for a favorable outcome of this revelation. From there, he said almost inaudibly, "I had a feeling...But I wish you didn't."

 _No_...I couldn't accept that - I wouldn't. Rather, I took his hands in mine and forced him to look back at me directly as I said, "I _do_ , though."

"Please, just stop this," he said, carefully stepping away from me now, "I don't want to have this fight again."

"It's not a fight, Erik," I said, reminding myself to keep my voice low and steady. I followed his few steps, but didn't even attempt to convince him to turn around again, not wanting to push him away if he was threatened by my insistence, "I don't want this to be a fight. But I need you to - "

" - Goddamn it, _stop_!" he yelled now, turning back sharply to face me again. But although the swift movement had startled me, I held my ground just the same, and in response to my stubbornness he nearly begged, "You don't need me to do anything, you don't want this. Do you understand?" he asked, clearly not expecting a reply as he continued, his words almost bleeding together in his desperate haste, " _Please_ believe me, I'm doing you a favor. I'm too much to handle, and I refuse to drag you into this."

"Alright, just relax," I said softly, knowing that I had to calm him down and regain control of the situation all at once, at the very least for the sake of his anxiety if nothing else. All things considered, my mind was still reeling for my part - and so I attempted to move forward slowly, one step at a time, "If it's just the drinking, then you need to get help for that. See your therapist, like you are for the PTSD. Those things are all manageable, it doesn't matter that - "

" - What _does_ matter, then?" he interrupted harshly, chilling me to the bone when he swiftly continued, "Would it matter to you that I tried to kill myself? Does _that_ convince you that you're better off without me?"

And I could only gasp in response initially, otherwise rendered completely speechless with the gravity of his sharp and completely unexpected words. When I finally could speak again, my voice was tight, "You...you what?"

"Two years ago," he confirmed, his now-tearful gaze absolutely relentless as he repeated, "I tried to kill myself. So do you still think _anything_ having to do with me is manageable?"


	20. Tell Me That I Won't Feel a Thing

**Author's Note:** _Hello everyone! Due to the nature of this chapter, I'm going to forego the usual greetings and thank yous and jump right into a few very serious matters. To begin with, please be aware that this chapter comes with some **major content warnings/trigger warnings.** I cannot stress that enough - I made it a point at the end of the last chapter to say exactly what would be explained here. In brief, Erik tired to kill himself some years ago, and in this section we're going to see that scene and the moments leading up to it in extensive, sometimes graphic detail. I know that some people can handle reading something like that - but if you're unable to cope with frank discussions of depression and suicide, that is completely fine, but please PLEASE do not read this. I don't want anyone being hurt in any way whatsoever because of this story. You won't miss anything if you need to skip this chapter, I promise. I formatted it the way I did specifically for that reason. I feel that it's important to not stigmatize or sugarcoat this topic, as I've lived through it myself, but I will not force anyone to share in that sentiment or this part of the story. Also, just a note for those who need it - if you're struggling with depression or feel that you want to end your life, know that you're not alone, and life is not hopeless. No matter what, do not end your life. Remember, depression lies, and it does not discriminate. And as my mother told me when I was coping with my own diagnosis of depression: suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. There's always a way and a reason to keep living. Know that I speak from experience, and once again I'll say that if you're struggling, reach out for help in any way you're able. It's always worth it. And so, with all of that said, I'll just note as usual that the title for this chapter comes from the Green Day song, "Give Me Novocaine," which I'm sure many of you are familiar with. This was one of the first chapters I conceptualized, and I had always planned to use this song for it, so I'm glad to finally see it come to life now. Sending much love to you all, and thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think, and I look forward to coming back next week. I promise to offer further explanations in the plot and more soothing chapter content when I do! :D _

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Chapter 15 - Tell Me That I Won't Feel a Thing

Erik

 _It's a mystery to me  
We have a greed  
With which we have agreed  
You think you have to want more than you need  
Until you have it all you won't be free_

 _Society, you're a crazy breed  
I hope you're not lonely without me_

 _When you want more than you have  
You think you need  
_ _And when you think more than you want  
_ _Your thoughts begin to bleed  
_ _I think I need to find a bigger place  
_ _'Cause when you have more than you think  
_ _You need more space_

 _Society, you're a crazy breed  
I hope you're not lonely without me  
Society, crazy and deep  
I hope you're not lonely without me_

 _There's those thinking more or less less is more  
But if less is more how you're keeping score?  
Means for every point you make your level drops  
Kinda like it's starting from the top  
You can't do that_

 _Society, you're a crazy breed  
I hope you're not lonely without me  
Society, crazy and deep  
I hope you're not lonely without me  
Society, have mercy on me  
I hope you're not angry if I disagree  
Society, crazy and deep  
I hope you're not lonely _

_Without me_

 _\- "Society" - Jerry Hannan & Eddie Vedder, ~2007_

 **Two Years Previously, New York City NY** \- _It was long past midnight, and raining again. I was there alone, unwilling to share my company or space with anyone that might happen to take a closer look at me and realize that something was very, very wrong with my state of mind then - and worse, I was even more unwilling to reach out for help to the few people that would listen. I knew that much, however distantly - I knew exactly why what I was planning was a mistake, yet I still chose to ignore every single glaring implication of my stubborn and persistent self-destructiveness that night. Rather, I maintained my forced isolation, and I thought myself justified in the pursuit in spite of the obvious rationality at play. I was just too unsettled, too far gone to be able to act otherwise._

 _I was living right in the heart of that incredible city at the time, and to anyone else - to anyone that was sane - that would've been an ideal situation. In that spirit, I wanted to belong there. Months earlier, I had moved back to the East Coast for a purpose, had wrongly believed that living among so many other people would be able help me somehow - after time, I couldn't remember any other logic to my reasoning beyond that aspect of the decision. But it was a decision made in vain. Being surrounded by so much life only made me want death that much more - it reminded me of how alone I was, felt as if I was being mocked at every turn, rather than compelled to continue participating in the world._

 _From my perspective, people lived their lives around me while mine was at a standstill. I'd lived that way for four or so years by then - though in many ways, I used the word 'living' very loosely. My relocation to New York had turned out to be the last of several failed attempts to function again after yet another upheaval in the course of my life, and I was struggling in the attempt to recapture some sense of normalcy all the while. Instead, I just existed, always looking for a solution, always waiting for something to finally change and pull me away from the worst of myself. But the change I sought - that I needed - never occurred, though not for lack of trying; eventually, I could no longer handle standing off to the side as a miserable spectator, cut off from hope with no foreseeable end in sight. I couldn't relinquish or deny the sensation anymore._

 _The sound of heavy rainfall that mingled with the still-dense traffic below my partially opened kitchen window was a distant hum then, the steady din rising to address me and somehow anchoring me to reality, even as I felt almost painfully disconnected from the world - one that I was now more than ready to finally depart._

 _Standing there and nearly desperate to put it all out of mind - if only for a little while longer - I reopened the pack of cigarettes I'd been going through last night and all that day, now meeting the last one that remained, the only one I had turned upside down the moment I'd gotten the pack. It wasn't often at all that I flipped a lucky anymore. That particular action was a nearly-abandoned habit of mine, an odd tradition that I'd picked up when I was still in the Army - though one that I'd never put much stock into, even as I practiced it regularly years before. But the previous evening, when I made the purchase at the market across from my apartment, something had compelled me to take out the first cigarette I touched and turn it over, not to be acknowledged again until the rest were gone. That was the rule, at least as I'd learned it; and so, instead of the usual filter, I saw the tobacco facing me, ready to share the last dregs of its poison. I took it from the pack, turned it around to place in my mouth properly, and brought my lighter to the tip._

 _Every movement I made then was methodical, each gesture almost ritualistic, and I didn't dare to pause and examine exactly why any of it felt that way to begin with. I truly didn't want any semblance of logic to return to me - I didn't want to change my mind again. This had been a long time coming, but not without some convincing on my part to take that final step._

 _The cherry glowed to life as I inhaled. Leaning against the window frame in a gesture of casualness that wasn't sincere whatsoever, I repeatedly flipped the shining silver Zippo open and closed with my free hand, attempting to steady my nerves by forcing myself to focus on the sound of the metal lid meeting the casing. The noise quickly became a distinct rhythm, an unlikely metronome in my hand where no other music could be found. It occured to me that it was rather strange how much I concentrated on everything I did then, when otherwise I would have avoided letting my mind have so much freedom; it was stranger when I distantly considered that I'd reappropriated the so-called lucky cigarette to be along the same vein as one given to prisoners before an execution - the exact opposite of the tradition's original meaning. I supposed, for all intents and purposes, that was exactly what I had done - I'd given myself one last smoke before the end, like a man about to face the firing squad. I almost laughed..._

 _I couldn't laugh - not when I remembered what I was about to do._

 _So much had separated me from the night it happened and my last deployment and subsequent retirement. I wasn't actively suicidal at the beginning of my life outside of my decade-long service - in fact, as immensely difficult as it was, I'd made a sincere effort to come to terms with what had happened to me and move forward. But I steadily grew indifferent to nearly every facet of life even so; time had become more of an enemy than an ally. I truly didn't intend to take matters into my own hands at the outset - never really thought I'd get to that point at all - but the weight on my shoulders just became too overwhelming. Eventually, there came an instant that I'd had the unexpected and startling realization that if there was an accident, some unnamed violent thing that threatened my life, I could say in all honesty that I wouldn't fight to come back. If I found myself on the brink of death, I'd allow myself to fall. And upon making that realization, I soon came to understand that I didn't have enough fight left in me to correct the underlying causes. I was certainly aware of them, but enough was enough._

 _That's how my mindset and dire outlook manifested after a few years, and that's how it remained, always waiting beneath the surface for my resolve to finally crack; in the end, letting that deeply ingrained apathy go unchecked steadily drained my sense of self-preservation, until I finally felt that I had no choice but to let go and be done with it. Before then, I had attempted therapy more than once, had attempted to sober up, set myself to rights, and to force my demons to rest. But there were too many to conquer now. Four years of that significantly reduced quality of life, of battling the ever-worsening PTSD and clinical depression all the while, had absolutely shattered me. Too much had happened to permit me even a moment's peace anymore, and accepting it all had ultimately proven to steal away the last shreds of my willpower and sanity. I wanted out of that existence for good if this half-hearted perseverance only meant pain - when it was all said and done, I simply wanted to die._

 _Whether or not my reasons were imagined or substantial didn't matter. I wouldn't sway on my decision, nor did I want to - it just hurt too much to live, and I couldn't stand the pain any longer. I had carried it with me over more years than I thought a man possibly could; nothing I did or said seemed to make any difference, and I couldn't keep going on that way. I was just...tired. There was no other way I could comprehend or put into words what I was going through. I'd seen too much, and I was tired of watching the world burn itself alive. I was tired of harboring the responsibility for my own role in it all - the guilt for allowing it in the first place - yet still feeling like I should belong to the world when all I felt anymore was contempt for it. And it didn't matter that I was hurt so badly the last time I was deployed, that countless people had died before then and countless more still would after. The fact remained that it would keep happening - the war wasn't going anywhere, nor was humanity's penchant for violence._

 _I was so beyond disillusioned by then that I sincerely believed that the world was a hopeless cause, doomed to repeat its history by refusing to learn from it, and I just didn't want to witness or participate in that anymore. I wanted a way out, and I'd finally decided on a means of achieving that end. All that was left was to go actually through with it._

 _Considering my choice, I moved away from where I'd been leaning and took the last drag of my cigarette, watching the white smoke in front of me leave the window in a thick plume and swiftly disappear in the rain. However long that storm was meant to last, the present downpour didn't seem like it would be letting up any time soon. Although, whether or not it let up at all didn't really matter to me one way or another, when I actually thought about it then._

 _Sighing as I threw away the now-extinguished cigarette butt, I then left the kitchen and crossed the apartment into my bedroom. I turned on the light when I walked over the threshold, but in the next breath I absently thought that I really didn't need to - enough light filtered in from so many sources outside to illuminate the room and make it safe to walk through. But then again, I realized that I needed to see clearly - at least for a few moments - before I returned to the living room. Kneeling down, I sat before my old trunk, a bulky and completely unnecessary thing that I'd picked up in college for the sole idea that I thought its antiquity looked interesting. Now, its surface was that much more worn out, gouged and scratched and covered in stickers from bands I no longer listened to. But I'd kept it for no other reason than the fact that I enjoyed owning it, and it served a greater purpose now. Opening the lid, I didn't miss the creak of the hinges, but quickly disregarded the sound. Rather, I took the Zippo from my pocket and set it on top of the trunk's contents. I'd had the lighter for almost as long as the trunk, and I wanted to make sure the object didn't get lost when it was no longer in my possession._

 _Inside that trunk was everything I'd wanted or needed to save; beyond the various practical documents that Nadir might need later, everything else held some relative sentimental value and had come to define me in one way or another. Some did more than others, honestly. I didn't have any great fondness for the American flag that I'd been given - folded properly in its case and collecting dust since it had been presented to me - nor was I very attached to my medals, although I wasn't willing to part with any of them altogether, either. Doing so seemed wrong, almost disrespectful in a way I couldn't quite name. And so I kept those relics of the recent past, the tangible proof of the unfortunate consequences of a decision made in a courtroom when I was only eighteen years old. I sincerely wished then, not for the first time, that I could have gone back and done everything differently. Had I acted more responsibly, then maybe I wouldn't find myself trapped in the state of mind I'd forfeited myself to now._

 _Still, there was no changing events that had passed, and I didn't want to think about any of those things for long anyway. No good could come of doing so. Rather, I determinedly turned my attention to the other items that I was far more careful about packing away and keeping safe; I had several photo albums there - some of my own of long-gone friends and travels, some that my grandfather had given to me as a welcome to his family - as well as my class rings from high school and later from Duke. Those items, at least, were things that I could still be proud of. Alongside them, I had my godmother's worn daily missal, tucked away with her rosary and crucifix, kept all those years even as I didn't hold the same beliefs as she did. But those objects had meant the world to her, and she'd made it a point to leave them for me when she died, apparently with the idea in her mind that they'd keep me safe. My heart seized with a pang of shame as I remembered that now - if she knew what I was planning to do tonight, I could only pray that she'd understand why…_

 _Ensuring that everything was in place, I closed the lid slowly and locked the clasp on the front, finally moving to tape a handwritten note to the top of the trunk - in bold, unmistakable letters was Nadir's name, his phone number, and a final apology, along with a short note:_ Don't tell Gene how it happened.

 _Nadir would know what I meant, and he could easily make up whatever he wanted when he'd eventually have to share the news of my death with my grandfather. I didn't care what the alternative story would be - so long as it was anything but the truth. I didn't want the elderly man I had come to respect to hear the actual details of what I'd done; I didn't want him to turn around and wonder if he could've stopped me. He already carried an immense guilt for missing my childhood and being unable to keep me out of foster care when my own father refused to do so himself. I didn't want to add to my grandfather's list of regret where my life and wellbeing was concerned. And so I left that note for Nadir, hoping that, once the likely storm of his own grief passed, he would be able to handle everything else that needed to be seen to. When I was found - however long that took - so would this trunk, and my friend would know what to do from there._

 _Another long sigh, a deep and dejected sound, and I stood and left the room - leaving my entire life behind me as I did so._

 _It is said that people who are suicidal often experience a bout of peace in the time leading up to the end - a sense of relative wellbeing inspired by the finality and conviction of that choice being made once and for all. Yet I didn't feel that peace for myself, no more than I had before I'd resigned to giving up on my life; I wanted to, I knew it was probably somewhere in the wings of my mind, had I the capability of finding it. But I could never quite grasp it just the same. Rather, once I returned to the main space of my apartment, I felt a restlessness in me worse than ever before. I had no idea what that meant, nor what to do with it - only that I wanted it gone._

 _At any rate, one way or another it would be gone soon enough._

 _There was no strict sense of ceremony to killing myself, no real reason for any display of sentiment beyond the moments I'd spent reflecting over the possessions I'd set aside. It was a solemn enough occasion on its own, so much so that I actually felt its gravity in my heart. I wasn't taking it lightly at all - but at the same time, I refused to let any melodrama paint the night. I didn't want to go out that way; I just wanted to cease to exist. I had gone about my day up to that point as if everything was normal, but I had an idea in mind, and I intended to go through with it before the sun rose the following morning. It felt right to die at nighttime, that the darkness of the world would mirror the darkness I felt within myself. If I had to choose a symbol, that one seemed fair._

 _Looking up at the clock above the kitchen's archway from where I stood, my arms folded tightly over my chest as I did so, I quickly realized that Nadir would be finished with his emergency room shift by then. Without a doubt, I knew I had to call him before I did anything else. I'd always planned to speak to him before I went through with the suicide, yet as that moment drew closer, I felt more dread and regret toward the looming discussion than I had before then. It would be absolutely impossible to say goodbye to him without cluing him in to what was about to happen - but I had to reach out to him, no matter what. I owed him at least that much, all things considered._

" _What's going on, Erik?" he asked when he answered his phone, characteristically foregoing any other greeting the instant he sensed that something was wrong, "It's late."_

" _I know," I sighed, leaning heavily over the countertop that separated the living room from the kitchen, holding my head in my free hand as I continued, "I just wanted to say hi."_

" _Are you alright?"_

" _I'm fine," I lied wearily, "I couldn't sleep. I think...I just needed someone to talk to."_

" _Why couldn't you sleep?"_

" _I don't know. How was work?"_

" _The usual," he said, clearly unwilling to allow me to distract him and hesitating before asking, "Are you sure you're alright?"_

" _I'm fine," I repeated, perhaps with more force than necessary. I took a deep breath as soon as I'd spoken, knowing that if I didn't control myself, I'd alert him to the truth. I didn't want to consider the consequences should that turn out to be the case._

 _Yet he insisted, "I don't think you are. You don't sound fine, anyway."_

" _I am. Do you need to go?" I asked suddenly, evasively, "I probably shouldn't have called you this late."_

" _I really don't mind. I haven't even left the hospital yet."_

" _Alright," I murmured, then paused, the silence becoming a near-tangible weight between us. This was terrible - I couldn't keep it going, "Look, I'll try to get some sleep. I'm sorry I bothered you. I just think I'm too tired to hold a conversation after all."_

" _Right...If you're sure," he said warily, before adding, "Goodnight then."_

" _Goodbye."_

 _And with that thinly-veiled farewell, I hung up the phone, realizing too late just how strained my voice was by the end of the call._

 _I took a deep breath, trying steady myself again, a gesture that was becoming harder as the minutes ticked by. The subsequent exhalation was tense and shuddering, and only then did I notice that I'd started shaking - it was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to be alarming. I knew that everything about this would be difficult, but I hadn't realized just how much so until I'd set these events into motion. I closed my eyes against the onslaught of emotions that were surfacing, desperately trying to ignore them, to overcome them so that I could act as planned. I wanted to do this - I had to. I took another breath, one that had little more effect than the first, and tapped the corner of my phone against the counter in an attempt to ground myself - once, twice, the last one harder than the others. Then, I turned around sharply, crying out into the empty room as I threw my phone against the wall. The moment it made its impact, I knew that I had thrown it with enough force to shatter the screen, but I didn't care - by then I was crying, completely overwhelmed, and I didn't want to carry this out any longer than I already had._

 _Stepping forward with a sob, I was ready to finish what I'd started._

 _The apartment had low ceilings and exposed piping all throughout - a loft in style, though not officially so. But still, its design would serve my purposes; it seemed that I'd inadvertently chosen the perfect residence for effectively ending my own life. Smiling sardonically at that coincidence, I knew exactly what to do, that what I'd planned would work out in practice - I had seen enough suicidal patients throughout my career to know what was going to happen, and how to do it right. I didn't want to be saved._

 _Once again moving almost mechanically - with a forced stoicism that I had to employ simply for the sake of not getting lost in my own mind, in the reality of what I was doing - I sat down on the floor and made a noose out of a long, thin belt. My hands continued shaking as I did so, but once more I steadfastly ignored them. After a time - when I was as satisfied as I could be that the makeshift noose would function as it was supposed to - I stood again and took the chair away from my desk, positioning it beneath one of the higher pipes. I took to every task I handled gravely, but my stubbornness persisted. Bearing that in mind, I climbed stiffly onto the seat of the chair, reached up to tie one end of the belt to its intended pipe, and finally looped the other end around my neck. When it was there, I rolled my shoulders against the unfamiliar weight, allowing it to settle in place before it was ultimately pulled taut._

 _The cold leather against my skin was deeply unsettling, and I could barely suppress a shudder at the thought. Instead of ruminating on what I was doing - on exactly why there was a noose around my neck - I closed my eyes and prepared to take that last step down._

 _For a moment - one so brief that it passed before it could be fully acknowledged - I tried to decide whether or not I should turn around and look out the window, whether I should catch a glimpse of the city before it was erased from my consciousness. Was it still raining? Or had it turned cold enough to snow? A sigh was my only response. Those details didn't matter - nothing mattered when I was so close to the end. And so, rather than looking out into the world, I opened my eyes and glared forward, a near-challenge to my determination as I faced off with the faded bricks that composed the living room wall opposite the window; and once again, I had the distant thought that I was a prisoner, and that this lonely room had become my own gallows. There was no going back now - no further chance for absolution or atonement. This was the end._

" _Just let go," I whispered, adamantly disregarding the tremor in my voice as I reassured myself, "It'll be fast."_

 _One final breath...and I kicked the chair out from beneath me._

 _I fell so quickly that I cried out again, only for my voice to be abruptly halted - all at once, I couldn't breathe._

 _The fall alone should've snapped my neck - had I used a proper rope, it most likely would have. But the method I had chosen for quick efficiency had instead only ensured my prolonged suffering. I'd made a significant error in judgement, and I was paying for it in spades. Time seemed to drag on endlessly, yet in reality so little of it had actually passed - certainly not enough to kill me just yet. I was hanging a foot or two off the ground, rendered completely helpless as I slowly suffocated, the harsh choking sounds issuing from my throat absolutely sickening to experience; and for the first time that night, I felt true fear of what was to come._

 _Every instinct for survival that remained within me screamed at me to take back what I'd just done_. _And I panicked - rapidly growing weaker with each passing second, I was still somehow able to reach for the belt around my neck and struggle with the band of leather, feeling blood where it was cutting into my skin as I flailed with jerking motions above the floor - yet even so, I was telling myself to be patient, begging myself to calm down. It would be over soon, it had to be over soon...But the frenzied desperation to die warred with the lingering cries of survival screaming in my head,_ Please, please stop this stop this now, goddammit just stop this!

 _That internal conflict was intense, and it was enduring. I kept my hands clutched firmly at the belt all the while - but on the small chance that I had somehow convinced myself by then to change my mind, there was nothing I could do anymore to save myself regardless. My chest was burning, felt as if it was caught in a vise - my thoughts soon became erratic and foggy as my vision blurred, darkened at the edges while impossibly bright lights flashed at the center. Even closing my eyes did nothing to prevent that brightness, and that itself - coupled with everything else I was experiencing in his Hell of my own making - was incredibly frightening. I knew it wasn't a slow process by any means, but death very much felt that way, so agonizingly slow. It was painful, and it was terrifying - I hated it, hated myself for arriving at that point at all. I sincerely thought that those would be my final moments alive, that I would leave this world twisted and warped by self-hatred and agony._

 _Until, without warning, the noose gave way._

 _Before I could completely comprehend what was happening, I fell to the ground and took a hard and painful landing, all but dead-weight by then. But although I'd been spared for the immediate future, the damage was clearly done. In nearly strangling myself, I had also rendered myself completely unable to move at the same time - it didn't matter then whether that might have been to finally get help or to simply finish the job. Barely breathing - barely able to think - I just lay there, caught up between that disturbing sense of half-consciousness and something else entirely. Only then did it occur to me that I could still very well die in a matter of moments, if not seconds. I simply needed to let go - that was what I'd told myself before. Just let go._

 _But as everything finally went dark, I distantly wondered if I still wanted to._


	21. Beneath the Stains of Time

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back, and fuck technological inconveniences! That said, I apologize for the delay - it seems like every time I try to get back on my Tuesday schedule, something happens that I have to unfuck. Oh well, c'est la vie. Anywhoodles, I know the last chapter was pretty heavy, and this one is as well, but I don't believe there will be a need for content warnings, other than mentions of suicide, but more in a recovery sense. If I am mistaken, please let me know so I can include proper warnings. And in general, please let me know what y'all think, I always appreciate the feedback! Finally, the title for this chapter comes from lyrics to the song "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails, though I had Johnny Cash's version in mind while writing this. Either is good, and always very moving. Thank you all for the love, and enjoy!_

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Chapter 16 - Beneath the Stains of Time

Erik

 **Present Day, Schaumburg IL** \- I tried to kill myself. There was no other way to say it; there was no _nice_ way to say it. That was just the truth of the past, a fact that had been forged during the course of my life that I couldn't change, no matter how badly I wanted to. I was suicidal, and I acted on it, and even to this day I still cannot understand how I didn't succeed - what purpose there could have possibly been to surviving it. By all reason, I should be dead.

In time, and through counseling, I would learn to be moderately grateful for that unforeseen second chance, enough to sincerely attempt to regain control of my life. I honestly didn't like to think about any of it, yet it was impossible to forget for long - the memory was engraved in my mind, and made up a part of me that stubbornly remained two years down the road. As much as I tried to put it all behind me, so many of my decisions and actions would inevitably come to be influenced by what I'd set into motion that night. All to bring me to attempt countless times to spare Christine from my own chaos; to that moment of admission, a desperate instant wherein the compulsion to tell her everything became too strong to ignore - if only for the sake of finally smothering the illusion she still held of a future between us.

Our shifts at the hospital that day had been devastating, the evening spent together which followed was emotionally draining - we would have been wise to hold off any serious discussions until we were both in a more stable state of mind. Yet neither of us chose to do so, and thus we found ourselves as we were now. And when I initially began talking about that night in New York, I spoke of it all almost frantically, panicked by what I'd just revealed yet no longer able or caring to keep it hidden. I could no more take back the words than I could the event they described; for better or worse, I had no choice but to keep on the subject. In an unsteady voice, I said everything that I could before the memories just became too overwhelming to continue managing on my own - though calling what I was doing 'managing' was being generous. This had all occurred within the span of only a few moments, very quickly getting to the point that Christine had to recapture my attention and stall my words in order to lead me to sit down next to her again on the couch.

"Erik, slow down," she'd murmured as she took my hands in hers, mindful of the bandaging she had so carefully placed over my palm, "It's alright, just tell me what happened."

Hesitant at first, the steadiness of the demeanor she maintained became enough to keep me grounded. She spoke softly as she coaxed me to face her, her words edged with that air of determination that I had come to love about her, even as I dreaded the consequences of its presence then. She wouldn't let such a serious issue lie, and I was only just beginning to realize exactly what I was saying - the potential impact it would have on our relationship. I believe she understood that, and yet it seemed that she would do everything in her power to force me to regain my composure and speak clearly just the same; and somehow, I conceded relatively easily in spite of my renewed anxiety. She released my hands and invited me to continue, and with mingled resolution and resignation, I gave in to her request.

It was there side-by-side that we stayed, coexisting in this unfamiliar territory of my past for the remainder of the time it took me to recount the night in question. It was an immense relief that I'd stopped shaking long before then, that I could take a deep breath without fighting for it. I needed as many factors on my side as possible in order to stay calm and get through this conversation. Rex had settled down in front of us by that point, sensing my unease and dutifully remaining close by, and I tried to focus on him while I spoke.

As time slipped away from Christine and I in the following moments, I told her everything there was to know about what had happened - everything I did, everything I thought and felt was there for her to take to heart, to do with it whatever she decided was right. At her insistence, I spared her no detail of that night, always distantly wondering when she would hear enough to be unable to handle more. Yet she didn't halt my words again; she listened with a sort of stoicism that I'd rarely seen in her, had asked questions when she felt it was necessary, gently prompted me to continue when I'd needed to take a breath - and slowly, I realized that every moment she engaged with me seemed at times to serve as a means of catharsis on my behalf.

Yet while she helped me, I was certain that I was overwhelming her with information I would have preferred to keep hidden - and I would be lying if I didn't say that a part of me _wanted_ to scare her away with the truth, even as another couldn't stand the thought of her leaving. I could scream about misfortunes and destroy everything around me and act as obnoxiously as I wanted - and God knows I had. But the truth of it was that I had been terrified at every turn that she'd leave in response to what I'd done, more now than ever. But still, once I started speaking, I couldn't bring myself to stop no matter which side of me won the battle of willfulness and logic - in the end, I didn't protest either mindset. I simply gave her what she asked to hear. Because when the subject was finally broached between us, I realized how _tired_ I was of keeping it all away from her, sick to death of suffering on my own when she had repeatedly insisted that I act otherwise. I wanted her there with me. But it was an unsettling story, and it wasn't something I was proud of sharing; as time passed, as my voice droned on with my memories, I continued to wonder exactly what her breaking point would ultimately be.

But that breaking point never showed itself, if it ever even existed at all. Christine stayed with me, and that fact alone was perhaps more astonishing than it should have been, all things considered. By the end, she knew almost everything, at the very least every part of me that I had tried for so long to hide. If she passed judgment against me, she made no indication of her thoughts. And anyway, I wouldn't hold it against her if she had. If she had ever wanted another chance to run from me during the course of this evening, then this was the best opportunity I could've given her - in my mind, she certainly had more than enough reason to do so by then. But she _stayed_. She had cried as I spoke, as each recalled instant became more bleak and steadily more graphic - but between her questions and softly spoken reassurances, she otherwise remained determinedly next to me, silent and nearly motionless throughout.

That was, until I reached the end, until I described to her what was going through my mind before I lost consciousness - the terrifying juncture that I'd believed would be the end of my life. With those hushed words, as I attempted to break eye-contact with her, thoroughly convinced that she wanted me to, she instead pulled me into her arms before I could even begin to protest. And although I was surprised by her sudden movement, I did nothing to push her away from me; I didn't want to then. She maintained her silence as she held me, but her gesture spoke volumes regardless. Her relief that my life was spared was almost tangible, her gratitude that I was there sitting next to her - the fear in the face of what else I could still have to say - absolutely broke my heart, and I considered that it would be wrong to draw this embrace out longer than I deserved. But after a brief hesitation, I returned the embrace, slowly and tentatively wrapping my arms around her, tightening my hold on her as she did her own; and it was there that we remained for countless moments. In so many ways, we were lost there together.

When we finally parted, I immediately regretted the ceased contact, feeling incredibly empty without it.

But for a time, I still couldn't meet her eyes, couldn't quite bring myself to acknowledge what I might find there - whether that turned out to be acceptance or rejection, I truly wasn't sure if I could handle either just yet. Rather, I sighed and glanced down at my hands, stubbornly refusing to look up and once again noting the bandage against my skin. And with its presence glaring there before me, I considered then exactly _how_ the injury happened - why it had happened at all - though the images that swiftly followed the memory itself were hazy. But even so, I couldn't dismiss the embarrassment I felt for buying the whiskey that afternoon, for letting Christine see me get drunk and react so badly to my meds; nor could I let go of the regret that grated at me for treating her the way I had. If I'd been in my right mind - or had at least been _sober_ \- I would certainly have carried myself differently. I might not have been wholly welcoming, but I sure as hell wouldn't have gotten so violent, so out of control. I hated myself in those reflections for getting to that point to begin with. Nothing that I'd done even felt like a part of the same day I existed in now, yet I felt that remorse deeply.

Christine, however, wouldn't let me remain in that somber distance from her, unwilling once again to be deterred by my behavior. In that spirit, she refused to let me avert my gaze any longer than I had already, clearly not wanting the discussion to end where it had. And once again, I allowed her to make that decision for me - I owed her at least that much.

"How did you…" she began to ask before she hesitated, seemingly to collect her thoughts before she could continue, "How were you found?"

I shrugged tersely, the gesture conveying an indifference that was decidedly feigned for the sake of staying calm, "Nadir knew something was wrong with me. When I didn't answer my phone again, he said that he got in touch with the sheriff somewhere near my apartment, and had someone sent out there for a wellness-check. The cops found me on the floor, sent me to the hospital, and Nadir came out from Chicago the first chance he got."

"I don't understand why you didn't ask him for help when you had him on the phone."

"Because I'd thought I was beyond his help. And _any_ help. It was...that was hard on him," I said softly, shaking my head at the memories.

 _Why did you do this, Erik?_ Nadir had yelled after a nurse had shown him into my room, _You lied, you said you were fine. What the fuck were you thinking?_ And he'd been loud enough to make me flinch against his reaction, but there was no genuine anger in his voice then, even as it broke distinctively with his distress - only fear could be found there, bright fear and a terrible sadness that stayed with me long after the worst of the storm had passed. And as I apologized to him - as I repeated how sorry I was in a hoarse voice from my own strangulation - I realized that beyond his justifiable concern for me, I'd in turn broken his heart.

He was my friend, had become my brother after so many years, but I wouldn't let him act in that capacity and save me; I'd never even given him the chance to try, and I carry the guilt for that even now. He had been the first person I'd called after I was injured and sent home from Afghanistan - nevermind the countless times I'd reached out to him after the fact - yet I couldn't bring myself to ask for help when my life had actually depended on it. By then, I truly believed that there was no help _to_ be found, no shred of hope left for me - but that line of thinking, that weary surrender to my depression, had just barely softened the blow that our friendship sustained immediately after the incident. I had scared him as badly as I had myself, and I was sure that I'd never be able to forget any of what I'd done - at any rate, it was a credit to Nadir's character that he'd forgiven me once the shock had worn off, that he could still advocate for me and compel me to act in my own best interest when at times I could hardly do so myself.

I owed him everything - just as I'd begun to see Christine in that light. She fought to build me up as much as Nadir had. Yet once again I sincerely felt that I had let them both down, and spectacularly so. I believed, not for the first time that night, that I hadn't deserved any of the sympathy or understanding that was so graciously being extended to me, namely from Christine now. I'd simply allowed too much damage to be done.

But before I could dwell on that notion further, her next question pulled me back from the past, from my bitter reflections against myself, "What happened after that?"

"It's pretty straightforward. I woke up in the hospital, then spent a couple of weeks in the behavioral health unit there. I felt like I was in the cuckoo's nest," I explained, smiling sardonically and trailing off as I did so. There was a crucial reason, only months before, that I wouldn't allow Nadir to entertain the idea of sending me to an inpatient treatment program when I'd started drinking again. I'd been locked up too many times before that for my liking, and my last stint was more overwhelming than I cared to consider. It was obviously a requirement for the sake of my recovery after the suicide attempt, and I _was_ aware of the benefit of the stay - years of medical training and experience necessitated that I was aware of that. It would've been wrong not to acknowledge the need, even grudgingly - but even so, bitterness made me want to reject it; I hadn't handled it well. Like so many other instances in my life, I didn't like the near-total loss of autonomy I faced, didn't want to remember the weeks I had spent under lock and key if I could possibly avoid it.

"And then you came to Chicago?" Christine continued, pointedly ignoring that last bit of sarcasm and entirely unaware of my thoughts then, and I was silently grateful for the obvious distraction that her questioning offered, uncomfortable though it was.

I nodded, "Nadir brought me back here with him after I was released. He helped me get established, and I got Rex through one of the VA programs, got work after about a thousand psych evaluations, and moved out here for good."

She seemed satisfied enough with that response, and for a moment I believed that the conversation had reached its conclusion. The silence carved by the sudden absence of words formed heavily in the air between us, a tense anticipation painting the quiet around us for a time, though neither of us immediately made any real effort to break away from it. But then, she asked hesitantly, "Why hanging?"

I balked at the question, sincerely wishing that she hadn't gone down _that_ path. My reasons behind my chosen method were somewhat complicated, and very likely more information than was strictly necessary to share for the time being. She'd already heard more than enough of my sordid past as it stood. But I couldn't ignore the question altogether, either - and so I responded bluntly, opting to give at least a portion of the truth, "I thought it would be fast," I said, then laughed humorlessly, "Had I done it _right_ \- "

" - _Don't_ say that," she snapped, finally losing quite a bit of the carefully exercised calm that she'd held throughout our time together. When I met her eyes again, I saw a brief flash of anger there, likely in response to my even mentioning the possibility of my death, the implied consideration of what might have happened had I acted differently.

I hadn't meant it that way, but in the face of her reaction I instantly regretted my words, "I'm sorry. Do we need to stop talking about this?"

"No, I don't think so," she shook her head, adding helplessly, "I just…"

"Take a minute," I offered slowly, the steadiness of my voice surprising me even as I understood firsthand her need for a break. By then, I needed to step away as badly as she did, and I found my excuse to do so easily enough, "I should stoke the fire anyway."

And I stood up - muscles stiff after too long spent in one place, too long spent with so much unreleased tension. I walked toward the fireplace without another word for Christine, trusting that my doing so wouldn't be considered to be a slight against her.

When I knelt in front of the hearth, initially intending to set to work, I paused for a moment and turned around to look at her again; she sat looking away from me, seemingly at nothing specific, but rather lost again in her own thoughts now. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them in a way that was likely meant to bring comfort. And while I didn't want to continue overwhelming her, it still felt wrong to leave her there alone after everything that had transpired in the span of that day - even if she was by herself only briefly. But I didn't want to return to the couch, preferring the immediate warmth of the fire behind the metal screen to further steady my nerves. So I sighed at the thought, caught her attention, and motioned for her to come sit beside me, hoping that she might find some comfort in the change of location as well. I was immensely surprised when she actually rose to join me; I was sure that she'd want to stay as far away from me as possible now. But I couldn't deny that I was incredibly relieved to have her so close to me again.

Once she sat down and I'd brought the flames to life again, I took her hands in mine as she'd done for me before, not allowing myself to even begin to second-guess what I was doing. I didn't want to stall the gesture before I could follow through with it. Selfishly, I would admit that just wanted the contact with her once more, that unmistakable physical reminder of her presence - but moreover, she had shown me far more compassion that night than I deserved, had told me that she loved me in spite of my outward refusal of the idea; the _least_ I could do then was show her my gratitude somehow. I couldn't find the words - whether straightforward or sentimental - to do so otherwise, but she seemed to understand what I'd needed to extend to her without my having to do so explicitly, or fight for clarity in the effort. Noting that, I tightened my grip on her hands, just for an instant of acknowledgement, before finally letting go.

We both stayed in our places in front of the fire, as settled as we could possibly bring ourselves to be under the circumstances, and remained in silence again for a time before she asked, "Do you regret it?"

I didn't need to confirm exactly what she meant. And although I was slow to speak again, my answer was honest, "Yes. Very much."

She nodded, though didn't respond directly then. But she did reach out and touch the scar on my neck - the strange scar left behind by the belt-noose cutting into my skin, now indistinguishable against so many others over my body for what it truly was. Most people assumed - few though they were that even opted to look more closely to begin with - that the injury, this odd line near my throat, had occurred around the same time as the burns had. I'd found absolutely no reason or desire to correct that assumption. But now Christine knew the truth, and she clearly saw the long-since healed marking in an entirely new light. I could see it in her eyes, and I froze then, just waiting...though I didn't even know anymore for what. When considering everything that had happened that day, I was having trouble keeping up with and understanding it all. And so I just sat in front of her and waited; she ran her fingers gently over my skin for a moment, with a sad sort of reverence all the while, before pulling away again.

"I'd wondered what this was," she murmured, her eyes still on my neck as she clasped her hands in her lap, doing so as if in a silent promise to keep her distance. I wished that she hadn't felt the need to, but I said nothing on the subject regardless.

Instead, I only nodded in return, "Now you know pretty much everything," then scoffed, "The worst of it, anyway."

"So much more makes sense now," she said thoughtfully, almost more to herself than to me, before asking candidly and impressing me with the bluntness of her renewed confidence, "Do you still think about killing yourself?"

"No. The depression's still a problem, but that night was the worst of it. I don't want to go through it again."

A pause, and then, "I wouldn't leave if you did," she said gently, before adding, "I'd want to help. I need you to understand that. My regard for you hasn't changed...But you told me you're an alcoholic, and you're having issues with your drinking again. I'm worried about that."

I sighed at her words, realizing that, although she had just clearly told me that she still regarded me in the same way she had before, she now had all the more reason to be concerned as we carried on - _if_ we carried on. And that concern now applied especially to how each facet of my mental health and behavior affected each other, now that she had the proper context for it all. In her mind, if the drinking and depression were still issues, then what did that mean for the future if they worsened? It was statistically unlikely that I'd try to kill myself again - but not an impossibility. The acknowledgement that ignoring those issues, only for them to pose a threat to anything positive they touched, was a fair enough conclusion to reach, and certainly part of a running list of factors that had constantly influenced my own actions. Christine would try to help - I believed her when she said that - but she was understandably uneasy. I truly was grateful for her attempt at reassurance, even as I couldn't blame her for expressing that caution as well.

But still, I was more than a little embarrassed that the topic even had to be addressed at all as I replied, "I know. And that's a problem, too. But, that doesn't mean I'm suicidal."

She nodded, seemingly accepting that I was telling the truth, then asked, "Are you going to do something about the drinking?"

"Yes. I knew I relapsed even as it was happening, but I never planned to hide it from my social worker," I explained, and at her questioning glance, continued, "I see a social worker for therapy, not a physician. It's easier for me. And I _will_ deal with everything in therapy, alright?"

"I just want you to be healthy," she said, pausing again before asking, "What happened since coming to Chicago? I mean, what threw you off?"

I shifted uncomfortably, once again handed a question that I didn't particularly want to answer in full - I knew well enough from the outset where that conversation would lead, and it presented several paths whose implications I'd wanted to prevent. But we had already come this far, and pressing forward tentatively was better than keeping her in the dark altogether - I didn't doubt that much. Moving to cross my legs in front of me, I answered with as much brevity as could be polite, "When I got settled here, I just tried to stay out of trouble, and that was fine. It worked for a while, but then a lot of things changed at once. I wasn't expecting to get transferred to the ER, for one thing, and I reacted badly."

"How so?"

"I didn't manage the stress like I should have. By the time I was able to, anxiety was leading to depression, and I was in denial about the drinking. I _was_ working on all of it, but that only started back in December, and I'm still catching up. Then I get days like today," I went on, glancing at her meaningfully and quickly determining that she was remembering just what I was. I wouldn't need to go into detail to sum up that day's events and mistakes, "I get reminders of everything I hate about the world, and I just wanted it to stop. I wanted instant gratification."

"So you came home and got drunk, and have to start all over again," she finished.

"Right. I know what to look for, but I can't always stop myself. I _try_ , but it's still like I don't even see it coming," I admitted. Then, wanting to vary the subject, I continued along another vein, half-smiling then at the sudden return of the memory of meeting Christine for the first time, "I never saw you coming either, you know."

"I could say the same about you. Though I don't consider that a bad thing."

"It wasn't bad," I replied, and my smile broadened for just a moment before gradually faltering, "But then everything happened between us, and before I could do anything about it, I'd fallen in love with you."

She looked away sadly - likely at the idea that I'd actively tried to prevent feeling any affection toward her - before a thought seemed to occur to her. Turning her eyes back to me, she asked, "Did you know on New Year's?"

"Yes, I did."

"Why didn't you say anything then?"

"Because I knew nothing could come of it. We've had this conversation before. You should have something better than this mess," I said, I gesturing hopelessly toward myself, "It's too much baggage to expect any one person to accept, and you really don't deserve to have to put up with me."

"I wouldn't be doing anything alone, though," she countered, " _You_ ' _d_ contribute as much as I would. And besides, I'm not perfect either. Don't put me on a pedestal to justify what you _think_ I deserve. That's completely unfair, and anyway, this isn't about _deserving_ anything, good or bad. I make mistakes, too. Even with Raoul," she said, ignoring my obvious annoyance at the name as she continued, "That was my most committed relationship, and I still made trouble for it. Just as much as he did. So don't assume what I can handle, because I've already learned we'd have to do that _together_."

"There won't be anything for us _to_ do together, Christine," I said evenly, meeting her eyes and seeing the flash of disappointment there as the energy of her appeal to me faded. I wondered then if she could see the pain in my own. She had to know I resented that the conversation had come around to this deadlock again, as it inevitably always did one way or another; I was so tired of doing this to her. If she would just listen to me and forfeit the idea of a relationship between us, then she would benefit in time. But _she_ had to be the one to accept it and go on her way, because I sure as hell couldn't do it on my own - I loved her too much to be able to anymore. I had to believe that if we stopped at friendship and found a way to reconcile with that, then we might both be spared the fallout of my problems later on.

She rolled her eyes, giving a groan of frustration before asking, "Why are you still trying to push me away?"

Absentmindedly indicating the scar on my neck, I responded dismissively, "I just told you why."

"You just told me about a suicide attempt," she said, holding up a hand to interrupt my protests, "I'm not going to condone what you did, or try to romanticize it. I know how serious it was, and how complicated it's made your life. I know a lot of things have. But I don't think those are enough reasons to stop us from having a relationship."

"I do. I'm barely treading water on my own, and I don't think it's fair to expect someone else come along for that," I said, keenly aware of yet another variation of the same lasting argument, "Believe me when I say it's a lot for one person to handle."

She raised an eyebrow in a challenge, "Nadir handles it."

"I'm not romantically involved with him. _That_ changes everything, the dynamics are different. And anyway, he and I have known each other for a long time. _You_ at least have the choice of knowing what you're getting into."

"You're not giving me _any_ choices though. Do you realize that?"

"Fine, maybe I'm not. But that doesn't change my mind."

"But - "

" - _No_. We're done here," I snapped, before standing up abruptly and walking away toward the kitchen, hoping desperately that even just moving to a different room would settle me down again. My own frustration was escaping the barriers I'd tried to set around it, and I didn't want to say or do anything I'd come to regret - I'd made the situation difficult enough as it stood. Once again, I had said too much and allowed myself to get overwhelmed by everything that was happening, by the nature of our relationship and what my consistent denial of it was doing to us both. I was _certainly_ not satisfied with the present circumstances - I absolutely hated what I had to do - but as far as I was concerned, my reasoning was still sound. It wouldn't be wise to waver on that position. If there was even the slightest chance of breaking Christine's heart because of my actions, because of any problems I brought to the table, then I wouldn't take the risk.

The problem remained that I couldn't quite articulate any of that _to_ _her._ I was well aware of that flaw - every attempt thus far had been a resounding failure, the words I put forth always reduced to a redundant mess and barely a fragment of what I actually needed to say. But I didn't know how to change that, and I was steadily losing ground every time we had this fight.

"Erik Riley, don't you _dare_ do this to me again!" Christine called out as she rose from the floor and followed my quick retreat, her determination matching my own as she appeared at my side. Refusing to be ignored, she remained indignant as she spoke, "I'm so _sick_ of you making this decision for us! Give me some fucking credit. I have the right to give my input, and I'm perfectly capable of making my own choices."

"I know that, but - "

" - No, let me finish. You don't get to decide what I react to or how, or what I can take on between us, alright?" she asked sharply, but when I refused to acknowledge the question, she continued, now softening her tone a small degree, "What you went through was awful, but you're not doing yourself any favors by keeping yourself from the world because of it. If you don't want to be with me because of some _other_ fundamental flaw I have, then that's fine. I'll accept that."

I sighed, "You _know_ that isn't it."

"Then your argument doesn't make any sense. You have to stop doing this," she demanded softly, though stubbornly holding my gaze with her own all the while, "If you love me, don't force me out."

"I'm doing this _because_ I love you."

"Then stop making excuses and let me return it," she said evenly, her voice measured, a challenge for me to respond.

When I once again refused to do so, she sighed deeply, seemingly to take an impossibly long moment to weigh the decision that followed - and finally, before I could entirely comprehend what was happening, she stepped forward quickly and pulled me close to herself, her arms an indomitable force over my shoulders. And after what felt like only a heartbeat later, she kissed me, the insistent contact of her lips against mine effectively reversing the roles we'd once held wherein I was the one to make that heated decision, her own movements in this instant serving now as a forceful entreaty for me to just _listen_ to her. She wouldn't be swayed; I knew her well enough by then to immediately understand the meaning behind the gesture. But initially, I just stood frozen there in her arms, my own hovering around her but never quite able to return this renewed embrace. Every part of me warred between wanting almost desperately to respond in kind, and the now-steadily waning idea that I shouldn't allow myself to - it was for her own good, I had to remember that.

Except...I didn't _want_ to remember any more of those denials. Not then.

Finally, I moved once again before I could bring myself to question the choice. I held her tightly, returned her kiss, deepened it, lost myself in that singular moment. It was an oddly powerful feeling in contrast to our overlying circumstances, and in the time following my reaction, I forced myself to focus on that alone. Thinking quickly as a result, I backed her up until she reached the edge of the counter, lifting her to sit on top of it and moving her legs on each side of me so that we could meet on equal ground, could stay as close together as possible. The position held more of an emotional intimacy than it otherwise would have in the physical sense, and I used the solidity of her body against mine to anchor me to her, and only her. I didn't want to retreat into my own mind in those moments and decide whether what we were doing was right or wrong; I didn't want to even _begin_ to consider the aftermath that was sure to come. I just wanted to love her and take anything she offered me in return, to kiss her and keep her close and pretend that this would be our reconciliation until the rest of the world fell away.

I wanted _this_ to be reality for us.

 _God help me..._

We parted after a time, but otherwise made no attempt to pull further away from one another. Rather, I stood before her place on the countertop, and our arms remained carefully around each other, eyes meeting in the instant before I wearily touched my forehead to hers. I closed my eyes tightly then, just trying to remember how to breathe. My mind was absolutely reeling by that point - so much so that I'd grown tense, nearly shaking with that tension, and it was several minutes of a shared and deliberate silence before I could rein myself in again, fearful all the while of what I might allow to happen going forward in that uneasy state of mind.

"I'm sorry," Christine whispered suddenly, "But I had to make you hear me."

"Don't be sorry," I said, standing up straight to look at her and brush her hair behind her ears, "I _do_ love you, honey. I do. But you really don't know what you're asking, and I don't know how else to make you believe that."

"All I'm asking for right now is for you to trust my judgement. Everything else can be dealt with in time. I told you earlier that everything is manageable, and I still mean that. But that'll never happen if you refuse to participate with me."

I shook my head, unwilling to give a direct answer either way - I honestly couldn't. So I asked instead, "How can you still want this?"

"Because I love you. And because what you told me isn't all of you. Your character doesn't end at your flaws, Erik."

I scoffed, "You don't know that."

"Things need to improve," she replied with a warning look, otherwise choosing to ignore my interruption, "But I'd want that for you regardless of what happens for us. That's still no reason not to be together, though."

"I can't fix this overnight," I said, wanting more than anything to impress upon her exactly what the gravity of our situation was - that she still might come to regret staying with me in any capacity, simply for the fact that I was still extremely unprepared to accept her optimistic words. Love might not be enough, and that prospect was terrifying. I couldn't see myself the way she did; she hoped for potential and believed I was capable of it, yet I couldn't function or remain at peace for the longterm, I isolated myself in spite of knowing its risks, I was slow to accept help - nevermind anything _else_ that was the matter with me. It was the continued practice of so many bad habits regardless of knowing their consequences, paired with the always-reluctant adjustment to wellbeing, that made me extremely wary of trusting myself to manage almost every aspect of a relatively normal life.

I needed to _say_ that, to repeat the long list of reasons we couldn't be together - yet all at once I didn't want to even try then. Not anymore. It was exhausting to love someone so much, yet always have to keep them at arm's length, and I just wanted to finally be done with the constant denial of happiness and let us move on alongside one another. And for one brief and insane moment, I almost gave in entirely. That kiss and every subsequent whirling thought had all but shattered my resolve, had effectively crushed in minutes what I had spent months convincing myself was right, and it was jarring. It made me weak and vulnerable, and I had no idea what to do, no way of knowing how to move forward.

If Christine suspected just how close I was to losing that battle, she made no indication of it. She simply pressed on, with a patience that contrasted so much with the fights we'd had throughout the day, "This isn't about fixing anything, Erik," she said, then attempted a smile, "I'm just asking you to calm the fuck down and stop putting your life on hold."

And despite my conflict, I actually laughed at that, shocked and shaking my head at the things she chose to say sometimes. She could be so goddamn endearing; it was impossible not to be drawn in. Still, indecision persisted, "Honey, I - "

" - You don't have to answer anything tonight," she added in a haste, "I'm not asking for an absolute commitment right now. I just need you to consider my side. _Really_ consider it."

 _I think I have to now_ , I thought wearily as I processed her words, unsure if what I felt in the immediate wake of that notion was resignation or relief, _I need to try, I owe it to her_.

Once again, I touched my forehead to hers. It was easy enough to determine that I would take this request seriously, regardless of my remaining concerns - but nothing could be properly decided that night, that much was clear. So instead, I just held her tightly, hoping that I wasn't dreaming, hoping that I could find an answer somehow that wouldn't keep breaking our hearts. Sighing, I closed my eyes and debated just how to word my response - I needed to say it without raising either false hope or absolute disappointment for her. When I believed I could do so competently, I moved to rest my head against her shoulder, turning enough for her to hear me before I finally said, "I'll consider your side. I will, I promise."

Christine only nodded at the agreement when I pulled back to look at her. But gauging her reaction, it seemed fairly certain that she was satisfied that we'd managed to reach some sort of understanding at the end of that exceedingly difficult day - at the very least, we were closer to something significantly more defined for us than we had been before. It wasn't ideal, but it was a sort of progress that we'd yet to accomplish, and we needed to take that in stride.

"Thank you," she said, her voice almost a whisper in the otherwise silent room.

I just sighed, bowing my head in exhaustion. I was very much feeling the effects of the long hours then, demanding hours spent both at the hospital and at home, and it was safe to assume that she was as well. So, for better or worse - and, quite frankly, unwilling to pause and question myself anyway - I leveled my sight with hers again and asked, "Will you stay with me tonight? I want you there in my room with me, in my bed. Nothing has to happen, but - "

" - I know," she responded quickly, "Yes, I will. I'll stay with you."

And I couldn't speak after that, once more couldn't find the words to convey exactly what I felt. But she appeared assured of my silent gratitude just the same, and I was confident in leaving it at that.

Very little else occurred between us that night. We simply maintained our agreement to save the rest for later, once again opting to just exist together for the short time we stayed downstairs and focus only on those moments. I certainly felt my share of lingering dread for what as-yet unseen determinations would have to be made, and I could only imagine what she was going through for her part. Still, neither of us voiced any despondency, assumed or not. What further conversations remained for us that needed to be worked out could wait until morning, at the earliest. We were otherwise content to remain in one another's company, tentatively encouraged by the fact that we were treading on relatively better footing - whatever that meant for us at present. Unlike the last night we'd spent in my house, our definite and unwilling separation didn't loom ahead of us now - when we woke up the next morning there in Schaumburg, we would at least be together, will have bought more time; regardless of questions yet to be answered, we took some comfort in that. We had little other choice.

Some time later, when Christine and I were settled upstairs and getting ready to go to sleep, Nadir sent me a text asking how I was faring - one of many from him throughout the evening, each containing some variation of check-ins, reprimands, and reassurances, to which I had responded in varying states of outrage and apology. Finally able to find a middle ground, I sat on the edge of the bed and turned the brightness down on my phone to reply. After a brief promise that all was well - as much as could be expected, and without going into any great detail - I concluded that part of the conversation with him by sending one last, short message.

 _Goodnight. And thank you for sending her._


	22. And So It Goes, Interlude

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back my darlings :D The title for this interlude comes from the Billy Joel song of the same name. Please let me know how this turned out, and rest assured that more answers and context is coming up in Chapter 17. In the meantime, please review, and enjoy!_

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Interlude 4 - And So It Goes

Erik

Although I was still exhausted from the intensity of the day, I couldn't fall asleep by the time I finally had the chance to. I certainly _tried_ \- Christine and I had settled down in bed with the intention of sleeping long into the next morning, and initially I believed that would be exactly what happened. The rest of the night should have been ridiculously uncomplicated by comparison to earlier hours, all things considered.

But still, I couldn't sleep; I couldn't get myself to just relax and stop thinking. And while I assumed that I would neither accomplish nor realize anything even _remotely_ constructive at nearly three in the morning, that lingering sense of rationality couldn't win out over my mind's desperate attempt to somehow right a seemingly endless list of wrongs. It didn't matter that doing so couldn't be achieved in only a few hours, nor did it matter that hadn't I expected any immediate solutions to begin with. Apparently, there was nothing I could do to shut that part of my thoughts away. So I unwillingly stayed awake next to Christine, trying not to bother her with my steadily increasing restlessness.

Sighing deeply and thoroughly annoyed by my present situation, I turned onto my side, making a half-hearted attempt to choose a position and stay in it. Carefully reaching out and moving my hand to rest over Christine's bare arm, I was partially contented that I'd drawn some comfort from her by doing so. If nothing else, that much could be counted as positive. It had stopped snowing by then, and there was no wind that would've otherwise blown the clouds away following the storm. Nothing in the natural world disrupted the night; rather, it was as still and peaceful outside as the suburbs allowed, an extreme contrast to the preceding day in more ways than one. And even as I felt distantly guilty for wanting to succumb to that peace, I couldn't make it happen. Instead, I just ran my hand up and down Christine's warm skin, fighting to be calmed, even distracted by the contact.

She'd taken my Iron Maiden shirt for herself again, the same faded old thing from New Year's; as I lay next to her now, I remembered the conversation we'd had when she reclaimed the clothing, grinning sweetly - if not with completely feigned innocence - at her accomplishment and challenging me to contest it. I wouldn't, and we both knew that. It was enough that either of us was allowing the presence of that relative casualness to begin with; it was our unspoken agreement that, in spite of everything else, we needed it then. And in the darkness with her beside me, I smiled inwardly at the thought. Our recent scene of familiarity, the fact that I was holding her now and keeping her presence so close to me...those moments were all aspects of something far more significant that I could get used to. Something we both wanted.

But whether or not I could take that chance - whether or not I _should_ \- remained to be the internal fight, and one which I clearly still wasn't sure I could allow myself to win. For what seemed like the thousandth time since the beginning of this affair, I tried to remind myself that distance from any more romantic involvement for us was for her own good. I tried to justify every possible reason I thought of and believed and maintained to protect her. Yet, once again that night, I was quickly losing ground with my determination; misplaced stubbornness meant nothing, she'd made her stance perfectly clear. But for the first time in this repeated conflict, I somehow finally began to see the strength she possessed behind her words. She would hold to her conviction that we stood a chance of being together, and honestly, she was absolutely right in doing so - I _did_ need to give her more credit where we were concerned. And for an instant, the idea of just letting the past go for good and coming together almost seemed feasible; I could truly see myself being brave enough to take that step with Christine and never look back.

Until fucking doubt crept in again.

I turned over quickly, my mind once again seized by a bristling frustration with myself, with the circumstances which I had convinced myself that I'd created, with everything I feared could potentially go wrong between us. I loved her, I wanted to be with her, but I could very easily break her heart with my inability to function - if she was hurt, the fault would be my own, and that lingering idea did nothing to settle the anger I leveled at myself. Pulling the blanket more closely around me in response, I realized too late that the gesture was sharper than I'd intended. Christine stirred at the sudden movement, and I immediately froze in an attempt not to rouse her further - but, to my relief, she hadn't seemed to wake up entirely. And so, once more I lied back, looking around the darkened bedroom instead of closing my eyes again, looked at everything and nothing all at once; and all the while, I was only making myself that much more anxious.

"Erik?" Christine's voice startled me out of my thoughts.

I turned back onto my side to face her and said softly, "I'm sorry, I was trying not to wake you up."

"It's fine. Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I just can't sleep, don't worry about it."

But instead of taking me at my word, she sighed and said knowingly, "When we talked earlier, I hadn't meant to keep you up all night worrying."

"I know. But that doesn't mean I can stop."

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw her nod absently; there was nothing more that she could say, and thus she wisely didn't comment further, but rather moved to lay closer to me. Sighing once again, a weary and breathy sound, she rested her head on my shoulder, and in response I pulled her more tightly into my arms. It was another intimate gesture, one of so many that were developing for us, and another that I was getting too used to experiencing. I loved her, it was impossible _not_ to love her - and it was getting harder to keep forcing myself to step away.

"Tell me this is right," I whispered, uncaring of how desperate my voice sounded with the plea, how lost I felt then in its wake.

" _I_ believe that it is," she responded softly, shifting in my arms to look at me directly. I could still barely see her, but I could feel her eyes searching mine, silently imploring me to listen. She moved to brush her fingers through my hair, over the scarred side of my face, a seemingly absent minded form of comfort. And at the contact, I felt myself somehow able to relax deeper into her embrace as she continued, "But I can't make that decision for you, Erik. If this is ever going to work for us, then I need you to come to that conclusion on your own."

"And if I can't?"

"You can. You're just overthinking it."

I scoffed, more to myself than to her. _Of_ _course_ I was overthinking it, I couldn't avoid that. Not for the first time, I wished I had her confidence, because finding my own seemed impossible, even as I was sure I already knew the answer to every last one of our problems.

As much as I wanted to deny it, if I didn't act soon, then I would lose her - it would be a slow and painful loss, but wholly inevitable just the same.

Because we couldn't keep going on as we were. _That_ was the crux of it, an undeniable fact that had taken hold long before this night - we'd fallen in love, and we couldn't exist together in limbo anymore. But we were clearly incapable of just remaining in the other's lives as friends, and barring communication altogether was absolutely out of the question. We'd done that once, and it was miserable for each side. And so, in that sense, we really only had the option of a relationship left to us. To say that the prospect of moving forward in that capacity was daunting would be an understatement. Yet once again, I had to acknowledge that something significant had occurred between us that day, that new shift in our dynamic occurring so dramatically that it was jarring. She wanted this relationship - and _I_ wanted it just as badly as she did. It was my own goddamn apprehension that kept us apart, but we _couldn't keep_ going on that way. There was no going back now, no more than there had been on New Year's, on the roof the first day we met, through everything we'd done together that pointed us in this direction. It wasn't surprising in the least - I simply had to be the one to calm down and let it be.

And I was finally, _finally_ compelled to listen to reason then - to fully accept it, if only for the span of that moment. But that instant was still enough to bring my defenses down. I was swayed that much more in the process; it was a losing battle and I damn well knew it.

So before I could change my mind, I recaptured Christine's attention and whispered into the darkness, "I think we can do this."


	23. Our Life Beyond the Stars, Part 1

**Author's Note:** _Hi everyone, and I'm truly sorry for the delay - I've been dealing with a family emergency, but I'll try to keep further delays to a minimum. Thank you to everyone that's stuck around and to new readers that have come to show support. Much love and appreciation to you all! Please let me know what you think of this chapter, and of course make sure to stay tuned, as this story certainly ain't done yet ;D Finally, the title for this chapter as well as Part 2 comes from lyrics to the song "Outlaws" by Green Day. Remember to leave a review, and most of all enjoy!_

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Chapter 17 - Our Life Beyond the Stars, Part 1

Erik

Glancing at the alarm clock on my nightstand the following morning, I was surprised to see that it was still relatively early, only just past eight - and recalling how draining the previous day was, I'd assumed that I would've slept later. That _had_ been the plan, at least. But the sunshine reflecting off the snow outside and streaming through my window had woken me up rather effectively, and very much to my dismay. With a long-suffering sigh at the inconvenience of it, I rolled onto my stomach and drew the blankets over my head.

Physically, I was awake - but I was still tired, thus staying caught somewhere on the edge of sleep for the moment, and I wasn't necessarily sure if I wanted to resign myself to starting the day just yet. It was rare that I was able to sleep as easily as I just had been, and I wanted to get as much of it as I could before stress and responsibilities and whatever the hell else decided to reemerge and keep me up at night. As it stood, I remained at the point of half-waking that blurred the lines between real and imagined memories; initially, I had to pause to remember what exactly had occurred to bring on this particular bout of exhaustion to begin with.

It wasn't until I felt the mattress shift beside me that I realized some part of my stubborn and addled mind had believed that I'd largely imagined the night spent with Christine, nevermind anything _positive_ that happened in the wake of that event. But while I simultaneously knew that the idea was irrational, even as it appeared, I couldn't shake the persistent feeling that everything we'd done and said together - once the conversation had finally taken a relatively constructive turn - had been too good to be true, that my determination found in the middle of the night to keep us together was a fluke. But when I heard her voice softly coaxing me out from hiding, a voice holding none of anger or disappointment that I still half-consciously dreaded, every last fragment of doubt I harbored had mercifully vanished. It didn't matter how upset I'd been before to inspire that doubt, I could never have imagined her as clearly as she was now. If nothing else, it was a distant relief to have the reaffirmation that she had stayed with me.

Before I could consider that notion further, I felt the bed shift again, followed immediately by Christine moving to lay alongside me. She'd most likely been downstairs before then - I hadn't heard her in the room at all until she was laying down and speaking to me. But I couldn't bring myself to be annoyed by the disturbance, even as I groaned at her insistence for good measure, smiling inwardly just the same at her continued attempts to get my attention.

Sighing again when it was clear that she wouldn't let up, I uncovered myself and turned to face her, "How are you awake this early?"

"Because Rex wanted outside, and it's not that early," she replied, and as I rolled my eyes at the statement, she amended, "Anyway, I wasn't the one up all night - "

" - Not all night - "

" - And I'm not battling a hangover this morning."

"I'm not hungover," I responded, feigning insult - though in all fairness to Christine, and any further joking aside, the assumption over my state of mind after what I'd done the day before was understandable. It was beyond fortunate that I _wasn't_ hungover, let alone that nothing worse had happened after I'd had that bad reaction to my meds and the whiskey. Still, I chose not to dwell on that mistake, and continued instead, "I'm just tired."

She laughed softly, then added, "Do you need to go back to sleep?"

"No, it's fine," I said, deciding that sleeping any more than I had would only be a waste of time at that point, and I really preferred not to lose any more of it, "I wouldn't mind if you stuck around, though," I continued lightly, motioning for her to come under the blankets with me.

She smiled as she moved closer, and as she did, I took her and held her tightly in my arms - once settled, we lay facing one another for a few moments, silent and content and at ease in each other's company. And not for the first time, I was thoroughly struck by just how easy it would be to get used to mornings like this. I _wanted_ to get used to those shared and intimate gestures passed freely between lovers. That familiarity brought me a sense of contentment that I didn't want to end. Considering that truth, I was sure there was no way I could reverse my decision now - it was daunting, but we had to carry on with this relationship. Going backward again, moving on separately grew more impossible with each day we spent together like this. These instances only served to reinforce that belief for me, to illustrate once again what Christine had been saying all along. It was incredibly, if not surprisingly restoring to think about, all things considered, and I felt myself relaxing further into our embrace.

But, as much as I believed we both needed it, I didn't necessarily want to remain all morning in that sort of calm doze as we'd done on New Year's Day. There was an extremely important conversation that needed to take place now, but it was multifaceted. It required a far more attentive discussion than simple pillow-talk could foster. Because while I'd made my decision in our favor during the night - an approach to keep the relationship alive that I sincerely felt satisfied with setting into motion - and while leaving that choice unspoken for the time being wasn't ideal, there were still other issues that needed to be resolved, and not strictly just between the two of us.

Among other particularly grating concerns, I couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened at the hospital the day before, what had happened to Tamara and my inability to make any meaningful difference for her. I'd tried everything to save her, but in the end I had failed, and it was painful to acknowledge. Beyond the battle that Christine and I had only just found a way to handle for the sake of our own relationship, the guilt of losing that child clung to me forcefully; honestly, the staggering loss likely always would evoke that guilt to some capacity. Yet it would still need to be addressed and managed at some point very soon - I knew that much - but I clearly didn't have the proper knowledge or resources to do so myself. Not that day, at least. I hadn't lied when I told Christine that I'd planned to talk to my social worker about what happened. But that didn't mean I was looking forward to that conversation, either.

When I told Christine as much now, more or less reminding her of the assurances I'd made her yesterday, she simply looked at me with brief and silent understanding before saying, "There's supposed to be some kind of grief counseling at the hospital for everyone that worked on Tamara's case. One of the nurses sent me a message about it," she explained, "Apparently Nadir and Dr. Masterson set it up."

I nodded as I chose a neutral response, "You should go to that."

"Yeah, I think so, too. Are you planning to go? Maybe pair it with your social worker?"

"I'd rather not," I began slowly, "I've been doing well just seeing one specialist at a time. I don't want to throw myself off. And anyway, I really don't want to have to talk to a stranger about any of this."

"That makes sense," she said softly, then seemed to weigh her words before she added, "I hate that we have to remember this."

"So do I. But I told you once that some patients just stick with you," I murmured, distantly recalling that long-passed discussion as I reached up to brush her hair behind her ears, just as I'd done last night, hoping now that my doing so would be at least somewhat comforting to her, "Tamara's one of them. No one that was there yesterday will forget her, I can guarantee that."

"I guess not." she said distantly, looking away from me and likely no more thrilled with the prospect of having to remember the child's death than I was.

"Everything will be fine, Christine," I said firmly, sensing her remaining unease, and in turn speaking somewhat in part to reassure myself of that sentiment as much as her.

She shifted then, seemingly resigned to the unfortunate realities of our profession as she said, "I still don't condone it, but I can see why it would drive the alcoholism in you so strongly."

I nodded again, "That's definitely one of the bigger factors."

And to that, she said nothing else, but rather looked at me now with faint curiosity in her eyes, catching me off-guard as she asked, "Why alcohol, though? Why not pills, or - "

Cutting her off with a heavy sigh - one born of a frustration that had nothing to do with her question - I broke eye-contact shamefully, knowing exactly what she was referring to now. I regretted that it had even become a necessary aspect of our conversation at all. We had to have this out sooner or later, whether I liked it or not - I just preferred the _later_ option of that scenario. But even in the face of my aversion to delving into that particular ugliness about me, I also didn't see the point in omitting information from her anymore. She'd certainly heard worse about my life not twenty-four hours earlier - she could handle this.

And so I responded honestly, explained the source of my alcoholism as directly as possible, "For one thing, I've known a lot of doctors that ended up destroying their careers over prescriptions. It's too much of a risk, and I never wanted to get caught up in that kind of mess. But even if I hadn't bothered to consider that, I just never got into pills in the first place," I said, hesitating before admitting, "That was my mom's problem."

At those succinct words, realization quickly flashed in Christine's eyes, but she still began to ask, "Is that how she...?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know that. So...you didn't want to repeat her mistake?"

"That's part of it, I guess. But it doesn't matter now," I said, realizing after I'd spoken how tight my voice had gotten in that short fragment of the conversation. I resented that such a sharp reaction still happened to me whenever I talked about the past.

"We can stop if you're upset, or - "

" - It's not that," I insisted, shaking my head and already feeling guilty over the half-lie I'd just told, the one that I said next, "I just really don't want to overwhelm you with information."

She reached up, compelling me to meet her gaze again, "You're not overwhelming me, Erik. You don't have to tell me your life's story all at once, but you have to let go of the idea that I'll run away at the slightest bit of unpleasantness. I won't."

Relaxing as much as I could - though with more than a little force on my part - I kissed her forehead and said determinedly, "I know...I know that."

"You've really been through so much," she mused, a faraway quality of sympathy in her voice that I both appreciated and loathed all at once.

"No kidding," I scoffed.

She sighed, once again changing the subject, though thankfully seeming to realize that the unease between us wouldn't get us anywhere, thus shifting the trajectory toward a relatively better topic, "So what happens to us going forward? Did you mean what you said last night?"

"I did," I said resolutely.

But that statement was apparently spoken more rigidly than I'd intended, as she said, "You don't sound so sure."

"I'm sure I want this, Christine. I want you, alright?" I asked without requiring a response. But I noticed too late how harsh those words seemed, and so I kissed her again before smiling at her in reassurance, telling myself all the while to keep my tone lighter even as I admitted, "Going about it is what makes me nervous."

"Is it because of the drinking, or - "

" - No," I shook my head, pausing before I could bring myself to find the right words, "A relationship with you would be the first of mine that would be...I don't know, healthy. I've never had one that didn't come from convenience or irresponsibility or recklessness," I sighed, "I love you, and you're probably the only person I've ever loved like this. Understand that, it's only ever been you, sweetheart. And that makes me want to be more careful," I said, then added in a rush, dimly aware that I was growing more nervous about this as the explanation progressed, "I'm not changing my mind, but I'm _terrified_ that this could still go wrong. And I might always be. So I want to be careful."

"Alright," she said, impressing me once again with her ability to remain level-headed when I started to fall apart. Without apprehension, she said, "Tell me what being careful means."

Taking a deep breath, I said, "I don't want anything concrete to happen for us today. I just...I need us to ease into this right now. Maybe give you some time to change your mind," I added, only half-joking in spite of myself.

Still, she laughed, "I'm not changing my mind, Erik."

"You don't know that," I shrugged, "You could very well get sick of me."

"So could you," she said pointedly, some of her levity replaced by an earnestness that once again reminded me to stop second-guessing this. I needed to better employ reason and just accept that; the fact that I was still nervous was driving me insane. But ignorant to my frustration in myself, Christine continued, "That's true for literally every other couple. For all I know, I won't be able to live up to expectations and _you'll_ change your mind - "

" - I won't - "

" - Besides, you said just last night that we could do this."

The memory of that significant moment reappeared before my mind's eye, "Yes, I did."

"We can't do anything if you're not realistic."

"I know, Christine. I'm trying," I said seriously, sitting upright and pulling her with me. When we sat facing one another properly, I went on, "Listen, before anything else happens between us, I want to take you on a date. I want to start this off for us the right way."

She smiled, taking both of my hands in hers, a gesture that proved to be as soothing to me as it appeared to be affirming to her. Nodding decisively, she said, "Alright, I'll take you up on that offer. I appreciate it."

And we left off the discussion of our relationship there - nothing more could be said about it that hadn't been thoroughly examined already. We were long past that before this point. But it felt right, finally seemed like I'd gained the upper hand over my continued destructive resistance.

We stayed upstairs only a little while longer after that exchange, opting afterward to move elsewhere and legitimately try to start the day, though we didn't do so in a hurry; we had no real plans set aside to occupy our morning beyond that.

In the big picture, the day spent in my house was rather bittersweet for us both - on one side, we were free to enjoy our time together as we stood on the brink of our relationship, but that freedom offered wasn't without a significant cost. Each of us had originally been scheduled to work that morning, just as we would have any other day, and it was only the departmental decision to give Tamara's team some time away that had changed our schedules accordingly. Moreover, and unorthodox though it appeared, it was also likely that none of what Christine and I were doing now would've stood even a slight chance of coming to light under less stressful circumstances. We had mentioned that to one another in passing, yet neither of us could come to a meaningful conclusion beyond the need to let this aspect of the situation lie, possibly for good. Ultimately, dwelling on it for too long wouldn't change the past, nor would it benefit the future. We couldn't stand to forfeit more - weren't willing to allow this to be part of our foundation - opting instead for respectful remembrance. It seemed to be the most reasonable compromise we could find then, and though it was exceedingly somber, we could make it work.

Downstairs, we had coffee and breakfast before settling in the living room, discussing comparatively more neutral subjects as we did so. It seemed to be our unspoken agreement to act that way in part to keep things simple between us for the time being, and otherwise to get properly reacquainted as partners, rather than strictly behaving as just friends or colleagues. That was an important step in itself, and one that each of us walked around carefully for fear of moving too quickly, or even too slowly; this was the first time that we could coexist in such a familiar capacity without having to wonder if it would last, if it was indeed real for us. We needed to learn how to balance that behavior, because now it _was_ real.

Though, admittedly, the unfamiliarity of being allowed to enjoy these moments without constant conflict was initially disconcerting to me - that alone was odd, yet still not so much as to become problematic on the whole. For that I was grateful. But even so, I had to remind myself more than once to stay calm and not overthink anything; I needed to relax, yet determining that and actually putting the concept into practice were two entirely different matters.

After a time, I decided to approach my lingering restlessness in the most direct way I had available, and turned the radio on to a classic-rock station. Ultimately it proved to be a wise choice, the well-known music allowing each of us to enjoy the background noise it provided during any intermittent lulls in conversation. Once again, it was the most at-home I'd felt in the time I'd lived in the house - something else that I would need to get used to and actually accept, but ultimately an experience that I was looking forward to. I was considering the situation when Christine began absentmindedly humming to one of the songs she recognized; and the sound of her voice was somehow very striking, perhaps solely for the fact that she'd seemed so contented then. In turn - suddenly inspired by a flash of memory and unwilling to leave room to change my mind - I stood quickly from where we sat together, offering her my hand as I did so.

She laughed and followed my movements, even as she narrowed her eyes at me, "What are you doing?"

Leading her to the middle of the living room, trying very hard to make this a significant moment all the while, I said, "Dance with me."

"Alright, but why?"

"Consider this a gesture of good faith," I said, and at her confused glance, I clarified, "I didn't follow through last time, and I don't want that mistake to be indicative of things to come."

She shook her head, laughing again, but complied easily enough otherwise. We quickly adopted a similar stance to the one we'd shared the first time, dancing in the same space as we had that unexpected morning back in October. It felt as if several lifetimes had passed since that day - to the point that I couldn't quite conceptualize then just how much had happened between us, how much had changed. If I'd been told last autumn what would become of us in the first weeks of the new year, I wouldn't have believed it. Not whatsoever. There was no way I'd allow myself that much hope, let alone grant myself enough confidence to think that pursuing this was wise. And in the wake of that realization, I held her that much closer to me, almost entirely foregoing a traditional dance for something less structured - something more intimate.

"Were you going to kiss me that day?" Christine asked, pulling me from my thoughts and obviously as lost in the past then as I was.

"I wanted to," I admitted, remembering the moment she referred to in sharp detail - remembering the regret and indecision that followed, "I think I was about to, before we were interrupted...Then I freaked myself out wishing I had, and then believed I couldn't."

"And then I kissed you, what, like a week later?" she mused.

I nodded, angling my head until our lips were almost touching, until we almost kissed, but I whispered instead, "You were braver."

"Out of necessity."

I sighed at her words - and then I _did_ lean in entirely and kissed her, a slow yet unyielding movement of lips that she immediately returned. Hers was a response that resonated within me so deeply that when we parted, I spoke to her again with genuine remorse at the contrast of past and present, "I'm sorry it took me so long to come around."

"You did eventually. That's what matters now," she said graciously, and we lapsed into a thoughtful silence after that, once again no longer needing to repeat thoughts long-since spoken.

The song ended only moments later, but although we stopped dancing, we stayed in the middle of the room, stayed in each other's arms for an immeasurable time. It seemed that we were both hesitant to break away; somehow, it felt too much like home to want to leave.

~~oOo~~

Returning to work at the hospital was a daunting inevitability for both Christine and myself, but an inevitability all the same. A benefit of her current surgical rotation was that we were afforded more opportunities than usual to see each other during any given shift - but even so, there was something to be said about the distaste of coming back to an environment where an extremely tragic event had so recently taken place. Everyone that had been present that day felt the intangible yet suffocating burden of it, but there wasn't much we could do to curb that consequence beyond managing the stress that accompanied it. In that spirit, and only once our week had settled down significantly - once that day in the ER was properly set aside and we could move on - Christine and I decided that it was high time for us to have our date, if for no other reason than for the sake of adhering to our decision to put that part of the past behind us.

When I arrived in Chicago the evening that we'd agreed upon, Christine had needed to come downstairs and let me into the card-access-only front doors of her building, which was simple enough itself - but in the process, I couldn't help myself from laughing inwardly at the bout of nostalgia the student housing brought me. Years separated me from them, yet I still didn't miss living in mine whatsoever. But I chose not to comment on that point - I knew how much that space meant to Christine, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings by bashing her living arrangement. And so, after our brief greeting, I simply followed her in an easy silence.

But as she led me up the two flights of stairs to her unit, I found myself on the receiving end of more than one second look from the other med students that recognized me from the hospital. I was certain that those glances stemmed both from the fact that I'd foregone the surgical mask for the occasion, and because I was very clearly spending personal time with one of their fellow students. It didn't seem to matter that Christine was older than the majority of them, nor did it matter that this kind of romantic pairing between colleagues was certainly not unheard of - in this instance, we were the outliers of their cohort, but not exceptional in general. Yet, although I was thoroughly annoyed, I made it a point to ignore them altogether. We weren't doing anything wrong, and I determined then that if we appeared even the slightest bit ashamed of sharing each other's company - if we acted like we had any reason to be ashamed - then we would only invite rumors surrounding exactly that theory.

Fortunately, it was easier than I'd assumed to carry on with that sense of casualness, thus we travelled the distance from the main door to Christine's apartment otherwise entirely uneventfully, though I was relieved to be away from other people. Once we walked through her front door and closed it firmly behind us, I didn't hesitate before I pulled her close to me and kissed her; I hadn't gotten the chance to greet her that way downstairs, so I took the opportunity to allow the contact between us to linger for a time until we were both ready to pull away. Then, I opened my coat and revealed a dark red rose that I'd gotten for her earlier.

She smiled brightly as she took it, saying, "Thank you, Erik. This is beautiful," and she kissed me again, quickly this time, before turning away and adding, "Hang on a sec before we head out, I want to put this in some water."

Nodding in response, I watched her turn and head around the corner into what could only be her small kitchen, determining that I should wait for her to come back rather than hover.

It was strange to consider that we were actually about to go on a date, something so absurdly normal to do, and yet I still couldn't wrap my mind around the notion regardless of that normalcy. But without question, I felt incredibly grateful that this was happening for us now at all. It almost didn't. Considering that, I stood with my arms crossed in her absence; as I waited idly, it occurred to me that I'd never been to her apartment before that night - and honestly, I almost laughed when I made the realization, when I applied it to my former train of thought. So much of our relationship up until this point was backwards, and even saying _that_ was being somewhat generous. To call the relationship linear in either direction at all truly was an oversimplification of the whole picture. We'd had so many missteps by then, such a convoluted half-courtship that it was all I could do to keep myself from apologizing to her over and over again for the trouble. She wouldn't keep allowing that, had already needed to remind me that doing so wouldn't do us any good, and my silent gratitude for her presence of mind was renewed knowing we'd even been able to come this far.

After returning and setting the rose up in its vase on her desk, Christine gestured for me to follow her back to the front door, but as we did I noticed a small gray cat perched on the windowsill. The cat looked at me with equal curiosity as I asked, "Y'all can have pets here?"

Christine paused at taking her jacket off the coat rack and looked toward the cat, laughing as she explained, "Officially, no. But she's not mine, anyway. She basically belongs to everyone in the building, and no one from the university has ever really bothered to look into it."

Amused by the explanation, I walked over to the animal slowly, hoping not to spook her as I did so. But the caution was unnecessary - she perked up as I approached and scratched under her chin, and I said to Christine over my shoulder, "She's cute. What's her name?"

"Willow," she answered affectionately, coming to my side, "I didn't know you liked cats."

"I like animals. It's people that I generally have a problem with," I said, then faced her directly and added, "Are you still sure you want to go to Navy Pier tonight?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because it's fucking cold."

She laughed, "I think I'll survive," then paused, obviously remembering something and saying as she turned away from me, "I do need to get a scarf, though."

And with that she disappeared into her bedroom, leaving me once again to wait. She hadn't taken too long, but enough time had passed that I'd wandered over to look at the framed pictures that dominated one of the living room walls. She seemed to have a photo taken from every important occasion in her life - some formal shots, the rest predominately candid, each one ranging in years from her childhood to seemingly as recently as the past year. To see that she'd kept so many pictures of her friends and family, that she proudly displayed them, was endearing. Her sentimentality was just another quality about her that I'd come to admire.

When I heard her come up behind me, I asked, "Who's who?"

She scoffed lightheartedly, "That would take too long to explain. But here," she pointed to a few of the centermost frames, "Those were my grandparents, Josephine and Gus Sr., my dad's parents, obviously. And this one's of my dad," here she faltered, "It's kind of a sad story, but I got to take this one right before he died. He wanted a really good one of us together."

Resting my hand on her shoulder, I smiled sadly as she recalled that detail, but chose not so say anything in direct response - it felt wiser to allow her that moment mainly for herself. But then, noticing that she hadn't pointed out her mother among the main photos, nor had she mentioned her in any great significance before then, I asked, "Did your mom pass away, too?"

And I immediately regretted the question as she hesitated, clearly uncomfortable now, "No, she's still alive. She just walked out when I was little, maybe only two or three, I don't really remember. I don't know her very well."

"You never told me that," I said, now completely taken aback, though it wasn't actually necessary to remark on this new component of her past - I was well aware by then that I didn't know everything about her. She had specifically told me as much, had ensured that she had no intention of hiding any further information regardless, and for the most part we'd left that point alone since it had been first addressed. Yet it was still somewhat of a shock to have been given this knowledge so abruptly, and for a moment I could clearly understand some of Christine's frustration every time I'd withheld details of my life from her, details that didn't paint me or things that I'd done in a flattering light at all. But I wasn't mad at her then - rather I was disappointed in the overlying circumstances, that our past issues clearly still held sway over each of us.

She shrugged, entirely unaware of what I was thinking about as she explained tensely, "There's just never really a good time to talk about something like this."

"I'm sorry," I said, hoping she heard my sincerity, "I wouldn't have brought it up if - "

" - It's not a problem," she said shortly, seeming to force enough nonchalance in the next breath in order to allow the awkward moment to pass quickly. With that, she continued, "I'm ready to leave whenever you are."

So I just nodded my assent, motioning for her to lead me to the front door - she clearly didn't want to remain on the subject, so I wouldn't force it. Instead, she summoned Willow from her perch and allowed the cat to roam freely into the main hallway of the building, very likely a practice that she was accustomed to. We returned to my car in near-silence, though the tension eased gradually from the recent upset during our drive out to the waterfront; by the time we actually arrived, our manner of speaking had significantly improved altogether. I'd attempted early on to apologize again, but she insisted that doing so wasn't necessary, that she just wanted to let the unpleasantness go and enjoy our time together. That was all the better as far as I was concerned - there was no reason to overburden the night with anything relating to things beyond our control, and I was as content to take her to Navy Pier as she was to be there.

For as long as I'd lived in or around Chicago, I hadn't spent much time at that popular location - I never really had a significant reason or occasion to do so, and it had never appealed to me much anyway. Before coming with Christine, I truly never felt like I was missing anything important. But now I was glad that she had decided to bring us out and see what was around there. It was by and large a tourist attraction mingled with a local favorite, and thus drew in relatively large crowds in spite of the harsh chill of winter; but regardless of that unavoidable factor, it still wasn't so crowded as to be uncomfortable. The lights along the water and boardwalk attractions were incredibly bright, and combining them with the numerous art and performance installations was almost overwhelming, and yet equally as engaging. No individual factor would have compelled me to stay for long, but combining them with present company, my active participation in this particular venture truly felt natural.

Walking among that liveliness with Christine was an exceptionally positive experience - hand-in-hand, we soon fell into step with one another, a long and easy conversation developing between us. We knew each other so well by then, yet once again I had the distant thought that our shifting dynamics had offered something of a chance at renewing that closeness. And quite frankly, I was sincerely enjoying the chance.

After time, we'd made our way well past the larger main sections of the pier, and had wandered closer to a more secluded arrangement of benches overlooking the water. Noticing the relative calm there, we chose to stop walking for a while, and once settled we fell into a relaxed silence. It was just...comfortable, and we simply stayed close in the absence of words.

As the night drew on, as we slowly returned to our blended conversations and spoke more straightforwardly with the advantage of time and freedom, it seemed that we'd also grown bolder in the process - there was a point that night when we'd only kissed, occupying the space at the edge of the pier, yet somehow not entirely there in the world, either. We were each lost in the other instead. It was only when we'd finally parted, initially just long enough to take a breath, that we shared a laugh at the utter unreality of what we were doing then - and in response, Christine had said essentially everything I'd thought in her apartment. It was easy enough to confide in her that our mirrored thoughts were somewhat of a comfort. If we were really going to navigate this considerably unfamiliar territory now, then at least we weren't doing so alone.

We lapsed into silence again after that exchange; for a long moment in that quiet, I only looked at her, wandering in my thoughts and reveling in simply being there together, in simply sharing this space and our companionship. This was right - I _loved_ that it was right. She was so beautiful there beside me, always striving to be compassionate when I hadn't deserved even half of her favor. And in that instant, those reflections were almost too overwhelming to consider all at once; it had to have been an accident that she'd chosen me. Because she did deserve better. Yet she had granted me enough patience to understand that the unworthy part of me wasn't permanent - I just had to have the will to fight for it. She was worth that effort and then some, and she made me want to be better in turn. If I hadn't been so sure that I'd fallen in love with her long before tonight, then this singular moment of clarity made it absolutely secured.

So why was I _still_ waiting to move forward?

"Can we make this official?" I asked almost abruptly, earning another smile from her as I continued, "If you were my girlfriend, I'd spend the rest of my life making up for everything I put you through. Hell, I'd do that even if you decided to reject me here and now."

She laughed, "You don't need to make up for anything, Erik. I'm just glad we've gotten to this point at all. _Of course_ my answer is yes."

Taking her tightly in my arms when she'd just barely finished speaking, I couldn't describe how relieved I was by her answer. Even as I'd known where our relationship was heading at the outset of this night together - if not long before then - and that she was going to say yes to a commitment when I asked, I still held on to the stubborn fear that I'd rejected her far too many times before to instill any sense of trust in her that a future between us was ever going to happen. But she had said yes, and that enveloped me then in a peace of mind that wasn't quite familiar to me yet. But it _was_ right. Christine was like nighttime, the soft moonlight - the exact opposite of my own intensity, and yet somehow it seemed that we would work out in spite of the starkly opposing dynamic we shared. Or, perhaps, because of it.

~~oOo~~

With the exception of sharing the news with Nadir and his wife, Christine and I chose to keep our relationship to ourselves for another few weeks or so, simply for the fact that we knew we'd face some speculation once we made it obvious to our colleagues. As comfortable as we were together, that didn't mean we were ready to volunteer that with everyone; at any rate, until that happened, we'd been perfectly satisfied carrying on as we were. It was nearing the first formal days of spring - though the inconsistent snowfall left much to be desired on that front - the day we decided to go public, an occasion that we'd chosen on an entirely arbitrary basis.

In the end, and although we were content with the implied significance of it, there was no real show involved. Rather, our doing so only meant that we needed to report the relationship to the hospital's Human Resources department, as soon as we could each spare the time to go there together; we were essentially assuring them on paper that we wouldn't hold the facility responsible should anything go wrong between us. That was simple enough, and we had to laugh at the formality when it was all said and done. The process itself took moments, and likely more time for them to file the paperwork than for us to actually agree to and sign anything. But once that task was taken care of, we were free to go about our lives as we deemed fit. If we wanted to show affection at work, or spend our breaks together, or whatever else we decided, then we could - the details didn't matter. So long as we were professional, that we acted within reason, there was nothing keeping us from letting our relationship status be known.

Later, when we stepped off of the elevator and onto the surgical floor after leaving HR, Christine said, "We might not get to meet later, but I'll keep in touch when I can."

"That's fine."

And with that, she smiled as she pulled me in and kissed me, saying, "I love you."

"I love you, too," I responded after I returned her kiss, suddenly aware of the few sidelong glances cast in our direction with failed subtlety as we parted. The kiss itself hadn't been inappropriate by any means, but it was firmly given and reciprocated in equal measure - there was no mistaking intent. But once again, brief and curious looks weren't surprising reactions from our colleagues at all - nor did I believe they would last long. Everyone would inevitably get used to us and find something else to talk about soon enough, I was sure. It was somewhat irritating, but otherwise innocuous - and moreover, that was just the truth of working so closely with other people. Still, I felt a measure of smug satisfaction then just the same; no longer caring who saw Christine and I together, barely making note of who'd seen us to begin with, I turned away and headed back downstairs to start my shift in the emergency room.

From there, my own day was as uneventful as one could be in emergency services. The department was decidedly busy, but never so overwhelmed that we lost control over it at any point; as such, the amount of incoming patients dwindled steadily throughout the day, and with that outcome I was able to take it considerably easier later as my shift drew to a close. In the late afternoon, once I'd finished my charting and other finalizing tasks for the shift, I made my way outside with the intention of checking my phone in relative peace when I noticed Nadir heading in that direction as well. Calling out, I quickly got his attention, and we walked out there together. As we stood in the ambulance bay talking, he took a silver case from his pocket and pulled out a cigarette as he nodded in acknowledgement of whatever it was that I'd been saying.

"I thought you quit," I said as he flicked the lighter to life.

He shrugged nonchalantly, "I'm always quitting," he said, his words distorted by the cigarette between his lips. Once he had the cherry brought up to a stable glow, he added more clearly, "I just seemed like that kind of a day."

"Right," I laughed at his logic, gesturing in silent question for him to share.

He nodded again, taking one more drag before passing the cigarette over to me; keeping to the rules of the custom - one that I hated to admit to still practicing every now and again - I took two hits of my own before I passed it back to him, and so on. Our conversation, or at least any consequential aspect of it, was essentially over by that point, and so we just stood for a time in a companionable silence, smoking and enjoying the rare warm afternoon. But I'd just passed the cigarette over to Nadir again when I noticed Raoul Chaney making an appearance at the emergency room's EMT entrance. At first, I didn't think much of his presence there, assuming that he had probably been sent down from surgery on some errand or another by his resident - that was, until he clearly recognized me, and in the next moment quickly made his way over to where Nadir and I stood, taking his steps all the while with unmistakable determination.

"This isn't an open-invitation break area," I said when he got close enough to hear me - and while I dimly acknowledged the pettiness of the statement, I still did nothing to stall it, cutting off any formal greeting he might have intended, "So unless you need something - "

" - I do, actually," he snapped, "Are you two dating?"

"Who, me and Khan?" I asked with mock-surprise as I nodded toward Nadir and took the cigarette he passed over, "Oh yeah, he rocks my world."

Nadir choked out a shocked laugh beside me, but Chaney ignored the exchange as he spoke again, "I'm talking about Christine, and you know it."

"And?" I prompted with a weary sigh.

"And I have some reservations about you, especially about you _dating_ her."

"Well bless your heart," I replied flatly, but Chaney continued, completely unaware that I had effectively just told him to go fuck himself. However, Nadir cleared his throat and shot me a reproachful look; he'd lived in Tennessee long enough to know exactly what I meant, and his generosity and good humor could only go so far before he needed to remind me to keep my attitude in check. As of now - albeit grudgingly - I had to return to a more professional demeanor.

As a result of my distraction, Chaney had needed to repeat himself, saying now with obvious impatience, "I just have to wonder whether or not you'll be good for her."

I rolled my eyes, more than a little pissed off that we were having this conversation as I said, "I would assume that _she_ thinks so. I can't imagine why she'd say yes to me otherwise."

"Look - "

" - And none of that matters anyway," I continued, stepping closer to him in a way that I knew could be perceived as threatening, "This _isn't_ your business."

To his credit, though, he didn't flinch, "I care about her, So yes, it is."

"Leave it alone and go back to work," I said dismissively.

But he was as relentless as I'd come to expect, "I'm not going to leave it alone, Riley. She means the world to me. You know, were supposed to have a family together, so - "

" - Wait, what?" I interrupted, now thoroughly at a loss to even begin to understand exactly what he'd meant by that, "What are you talking about?"

He scoffed, donning the dismissive air I'd just attempted to employ against him, then said challengingly, "Ask Christine."

But before I could respond, before I could allow the rising tension in me to snap and yell at him to stop making trouble for us, Nadir interjected, "Chaney, get back to your resident. _Now_."

And Raoul Chaney looked directly at Nadir then, pausing for a moment and seeming to decide whether or not he should continue to argue - whether he could keep getting away with arguing against his superior. For an instant, it seemed that he meant to continue speaking. To my relief, however, he wisely chose to drop the issue instead, sharply nodding once to Nadir and outright ignoring me before he eventually turned around and left us where we stood.

"What the hell was that about?" Nadir asked.

Stomping out the cigarette more aggressively than necessary - compelled to do so by a sense of unease that I could neither place nor justify then - I simply replied, "I have no idea."


	24. Our Life Beyond the Stars, Part 2

**Author's Note:** _Well y'all, I'll keep this short, but know that I'm fucking stupid, because I forgot that I was going to return to my old updating schedule last Tuesday xD So, apologies for that, and rest assured that I now have reminders set to prevent that from happening again. That said, thank you all for your patience and support! Please let me know what you think. Finally, like Part 1, this second part's title comes from lyrics to the song "Outlaws" by Green Day. Much love, and enjoy!_

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Chapter 17 - Our Life Beyond the Stars, Part 2

Christine

On first glance, Erik seemed upset when I met him in the ER after I'd finished my shift for the day. But looking closer, and although he was seemingly trying to hide that odd demeanor from those surrounding him, he still carried himself with markedly less confidence than he'd shown that morning. When considering that we'd parted on positive terms earlier, I couldn't even begin to guess where this abrupt shift in his mood had come from. But before I could ask for the reason behind his behavior directly, he'd offered me a quick greeting and ushered me away from the place where we'd met up - doing so politely, yet just as firmly. We walked away from the hectic main floor of the emergency department and into the vacant on-call room, his motivation clearly to find a more secluded location where we could speak privately.

"Sorry for the rush," he said softly when he turned to face me again, taking off his surgical mask as he moved. For that instant, my unease faded - but his apology still wasn't enough to combat that much unease entirely, not when I could clearly see his remaining tension as he nodded toward the door, toward the emergency room, "I just needed to get out of there."

"Are you alright?" I returned, deliberately foregoing any further greetings - all things considered, it didn't take long to deem such a basic question as a safe enough starting point.

Erik leaned against the desk then, sighing deeply before responding, "I don't know, I'm anxious right now. Your ex is driving me insane."

Confused by the statement, I approached him regardless of his keeping me at arm's length, extending my hands to make it clear that I wanted him to take me in his arms; initially, he'd only held my hands in his own, not quite looking at me anymore, and I had to balance patience and curiosity as I asked, "What about him? Have you seen him?"

"He came to talk to me," he said, his words coming slightly more easily now that we stood closer, though his speech was still noticeably tinged with the anxiety he'd just referred to, something that I knew him to carefully control. Even so, he finally pulled me to him in a closer embrace - one likely meant to be as much of a comfort to himself as much as a way to express affection for me - and explained, "He found me outside before you got here. He's pretty upset."

"Upset that we're dating," I concluded without needing any more details, subtly gesturing between the two of us to make that point - my new relationship with Erik was the most obvious answer to the source of Raoul's irritation, and I felt an immediate sense of disappointment that my former-boyfriend had even decided to bring on this confrontation at all. _Especially_ since he'd done so in spite of every time I'd told him to back off and allow me to lead my own life; it was more hurtful than I could say to realize that he'd again done just the opposite. Sighing with rising indignation, I asked wearily, "What exactly happened?"

"He's pissed off. In _his_ terms, he has some reservations about me being with you," Erik said tersely, paraphrasing the exchange, "Apparently, he's worried about us dating. You and I both know how he feels about me," he rolled his eyes before he continued, "I think his attempt at a justification was his protectiveness. He said you two were supposed to be a family, or that you were supposed to have a family. I don't know, I really can't remember right now," he shook his head and scoffed, "What does that even _mean_?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"No, he just told me to ask you."

"Seriously?" I asked more sharply than I'd initially realized, but I did nothing to correct or explain my tone regardless. Because now it was my turn to grow tense in Erik's arms - I knew immediately what he was referring to, and out of all the potential conflicts that I'd been dreading since he and I entered the on-call room together, I hadn't expected this particular conversation to come up whatsoever. What I'd thought was years behind me clearly wasn't so easily allowed to settle, and apparently I had Raoul to thank for that; it was with no small amount of annoyance then that I noted to myself that a serious reprimand for him had just become required.

Ignorant of my thoughts, Erik was quick to assure me, "It's like I said, he was upset. I'm not thrilled about what he did, but I'm sure he was only trying to start a fight," then, tilting my chin to look at him again, "You _don't_ owe me an explanation, Christine. I'd just as soon drop it - "

But I held up a hand to cut his words off before he could finish. Distantly wondering if my reaction had made me appear guilty, I paused for a moment to weigh the suddenly-necessary decision to delve into the truth. Whether I liked it or not, doing so involved a conversation that I wasn't quite ready to have yet, and I would be lying if I didn't admit that I would much rather have put it off a bit longer. I certainly hadn't wanted to have it so soon into this relationship, at the very least - even acknowledging that I trusted Erik, knowing how much of himself he'd given to me didn't make this any less intimidating. Yet he had needed to confront so many of his own past issues by then for our sake, and if nothing else, I knew that it wouldn't be fair _not_ to reciprocate that significant feat. I couldn't lie when I explained Raoul's meaning, nor would it be right to try.

Still, I sighed, pulled my arms away from Erik's shoulders, and stepped back slightly as I began, "I'd rather have it over now. But hear me out before you say anything, alright?" I asked, and at his assenting nod, I continued in a rush, "It was a few years ago, during undergrad, and it wasn't as planned out as Raoul made it sound, _at_ _all_. But he was referring to when we were still together, and...and I got pregnant," I murmured at the end, not quite able to meet Erik's eyes as steadily as I'd tried to before. Silence fell between us, a tense and suffocating span of time - but once I was able to bring myself to glance back up, he was just looking at me questioningly, leaning uneasily against the desk again, uncomfortable yet rather confused. So I clarified succinctly, my voice tight when I spoke, "Nothing came of it...I miscarried."

And for a terrible handful of moments, I recalled that part of my life as clearly as if it happened only days ago. I remembered my own shock after finding out I was pregnant, and Raoul's family accusing me of getting pregnant on purpose; I remembered them having the audacity of insisting that I was simply using my unborn child as a pawn to manipulate my way into a higher social standing. They were very unafraid of letting their stance be known, and the reaction left me bitter, inspired a resentment in me against them that I never managed to let go of entirely. So many times in the weeks that followed had I become obligated to dispute their accusations, defiantly reminding them of my career plans, of the fact that my father _certainly_ hadn't raised me to be so superficial. I sure as hell could take care of myself - I would be fine with or without Raoul. His family's status in the world meant nothing to me, and it pained me that much further that I'd even _needed_ to reinforce that I felt sincere excitement about my baby, even as I was incredibly nervous and naive about the prospect of raising a child.

My nervousness, however, was something which I determinedly kept to myself, though my doing so was probably a wise choice on my part. That, as well as my serious consideration of the sacrifices that I would inevitably have to make - sacrifices that Raoul simply would never find himself in a position to think about. Part of me understood that I might have to give up my future for this, at least temporarily. I was still in school taking pre-med courses, finishing the rest of my general education requirements - the demands of my schooling in addition to a pregnancy could very well contribute to me having to delay myself that much further where my career was concerned. Statistically, that outcome was a distinct likelihood that I couldn't ignore. Yet, in spite of that unfortunate reality, I _was_ willing to do it all and then some if I had to - even as, over time, I began to feel hesitance bordering on dread over continuing my relationship with Raoul.

Still, I didn't once make that known to him, though not with any lack of resulting guilt either; but I just never could find it in myself to do so, as wrong as it was to keep him in the dark indefinitely. Nevermind the horrible way that his parents reacted to the news of their grandchild, Raoul himself _had_ been thrilled about the baby, and that reaction meant the world to me despite what I felt about our situation. In the end, relying on sentimentality was how I found the ability to be resolved to any of it - and I warily, if not altogether foolishly used his optimism to justify my staying with him, in spite of the mounting incompatibilities I was beginning to see more clearly the longer we stayed together.

But then I lost the pregnancy - and Raoul was devastated, and I was devastated, and what followed soon became a time that would forever etch itself into my memories, tantamount to losing my father, to losing my grandparents, to my mother leaving me behind...Yet just the same, I found myself wondering if I was somehow getting the trajectory of my life back in the aftermath of that sudden tragedy. And in turn, I immediately felt deeply ashamed of myself for entertaining the idea - even if I did only for a moment - angrily accusing myself of being relieved by the loss, of being heartless to think only of my own future. It would be years before I could come to terms with the situation as it stood, to force myself to be realistic and remember that the miscarriage had been an accident of nature; but in the meantime, that proved to be the undeniable beginning of the end of my relationship with Raoul, at least as far as he knew. We were struggling before I got pregnant - both stubbornly continuing to keep ourselves treading water too long after the fact, and for reasons we barely understood. But the miscarriage set the true end into motion, breaking us down until we finally imploded when we tried to start over in Chicago, long-removed by then from California and the baby and the past.

Several years had gone by at that point, though I still hated to have to remember any of it; so much of what happened remained painful for me, and I was furious that Raoul had chosen to drag all of that pain up again in the first place, hated that Erik was bothered enough by Raoul's cryptic remarks to bring them up for clarification. I wasn't necessarily mad about _that_ , at least as much as I could understand that he truly hadn't sought out something that would bring trouble between us. Yet at the same time, I also wished that he could've just left it alone, or that this conversation hadn't been so abrupt - _anything_ else.

Returning me entirely to the present, Erik spoke in a low voice, "I'm sorry that happened to you, Christine."

And I knew his words were sincere even in their brevity, that his sympathy wasn't just the product of the manners that he had learned a long time ago. Momentarily disregarding the unpleasantness of this clipped discussion, I was grateful to him for the tact he used with me. Still, even though I felt his sincerity, and even though he made sure to steadily recapture my gaze with his own, he didn't make any clear attempts to approach me again, either. Rather, we remained standing several paces from each other, right where we'd been at the beginning of my confession. He wouldn't say it aloud if he already determined that doing so would only cause me more stress, but I was sure this conversation was far from over.

"But?" I prompted once I understood the tone of the room, well aware of the unease that Erik was displaying in his stance, of the obvious discomfort he held onto, whether he realized it or not. So I explained, "You said you're sorry, but you still look upset."

"You just told me that you had a miscarriage, and I feel terrible about that. Do you really think it matters if I'm upset about anything?"

"Is that your way of admitting that you are?"

He shrugged, "I don't want this to be a fight."

"But you're upset," I pressed, and when he didn't respond, I sighed dejectedly before scoffing, "Well, shit. I guess the honeymoon's over."

"Because I don't want to start a fight?"

"Because you're not telling me _why_ this could be a fight."

He didn't reply immediately, seemingly opting to pause a moment and weigh his words before murmuring, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"There was never a good time - "

" - There was for Chaney, though, right?" he snapped, but soon looked to regret doing so. If the details I'd kept to myself had become a source of concern for him, then I was in the dark over that fact. He had certainly never mentioned anything to me before now; I could give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he hadn't even realized that much himself, that his heightened anxiety levels weren't helping him to settle down before he spoke. But making that determination didn't instantly inspire me to forgive him for the sarcasm, either.

Rather, I balked at his words, responding sharply, "I was honest when you needed me to be honest. I wasn't expecting to have this conversation any more than you were. And you _don't_ get to be mad at me about this, Erik," I said pointedly, "This isn't exactly easy for me to tell you."

Sighing deeply, he appeared to make a focused attempt to soften his voice, coming just short of achieving that outcome as he said, "I know it isn't easy for you. But I think I'm allowed to be upset by the double standard."

Laughing incredulously, and wondering how we had even gotten to _this_ topic, I asked, " _What_ double-standard?"

He paused again, attempting to rein in his frustration and continuing to be barely able to find success in the effort, "I had to tell you so much about myself before. Why wasn't it mutual? Why did it have to be your _ex_ that prompted this?"

 _Now_ I was angry. I had been as understanding as humanly possible up until that point, but quite frankly, I felt incredibly mistreated then, felt that Erik was overreacting, especially over something that had hurt me for so long. Letting that thought fuel my anger that much more, I stepped closer to him and snapped, "No, don't you _dare_ use any of that against me! _You're_ the one that purposely withheld information, _for_ _months_ , and you made all my decisions for me in the meantime - "

" - _Fine,_ you're right," he shook his head, "Just forget it."

"No, let me finish," I said, and in response, he quirked his eyebrows to indicate that he would do as he was told, so I continued, "I didn't do that to you here. Alright? I wasn't withholding anything from you, not ever. I was going to tell you, just in my own time."

He sighed, finally looking abashed as he began, "Christine - "

" - When is your shift over?" I interrupted quickly, feeling decidedly anxious now myself. From there, I just wanted to handle the rest of this situation and be done with it, but speaking to Erik any longer wasn't going to achieve any reasonable solutions for us - not in the state that we were both in for the moment, I was sure.

So I waited, and he answered, "My shift's _been_ over. I stayed to find you, but - "

" - Then I need to deal with Raoul. Go ahead and go home. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

But although I'd deliberately posed that question, I didn't intend to give him a chance to respond - I truly felt that my leaving was in my best interest as much as his, and I silently hoped he would understand that I wasn't walking out on him altogether. Not in the sense that he would likely assume, at least. Still, I stormed out of the on-call room just the same, sincerely regretting what just happened, but knowing regardless that it would need to be resolved in its own time. Keeping up the argument now would only drive a wedge further between us - I knew better than to continue pressing when we were both so anxious, and so I opted to just let the issue lie until we were both able to calm down, doing so largely to prevent either of us from saying something that we couldn't take back. In my mind, we were still too newly committed to each other to put that kind of strain on the relationship. Resolution was something we needed to learn and grow into together, but not this way - not when stress held so much influence over us.

In the meantime, now that my own shift was over and I was otherwise free for the rest of the day, I spent a few minutes trying to locate where Raoul had disappeared to after I'd seen him upstairs in surgery. From that series of questions, I learned quickly that he had looked for me for a time as well, but for one reason or another couldn't do so for long, and thus had already gone home himself. So, from there I decided to leave the hospital and head directly to his apartment to confront him about his role in my conflict with Erik. I hadn't been lying when I said I needed to deal with Raoul, and I was convinced that doing so had to happen immediately. And as it turned out, Raoul seemed to feel the need to speak to me as well, though for the moment I couldn't say if his motivation for reaching out was to apologize to me, or to once again attempt to justify what he'd done. But in the time between arguing with Erik and actually leaving the hospital, I'd missed more than one phone-call and text from Raoul, and I was certain that his efforts to contact me were results of the events of the afternoon.

So, sitting in my car for several more minutes to collect myself before setting out, I sent a short response that I was on my way to see him; whatever he'd determined to say to me now, he would need to do so in-person - weather or not I was correct in believing as much, I wasn't just going to let him believe that he could settle this over the phone and be done with it. He didn't live far from the hospital, and for that coincidence I was thankful - I wasn't sure if I would've had the patience to travel further than I already had, and I wanted to say my peace at the absolute soonest opportunity; he was about to find out exactly how little I appreciated his meddling in my relationship, that was certain. Once I had stepped into his building and found the correct unit, I pounded on the front door with more insistence than necessary; it took every ounce of strength that I still barely had to keep myself from forcing my way in, simply out of sheer frustration.

Even so, the instant he opened his front door, I all but charged past him, half-shouting, "Why do you keep doing this shit, Raoul?"

"I'm _so_ _sorry_ , Christine," he said imploringly, closing the door behind him. He gestured for me to go into his living room, admittedly seeming sincere in his apology as he continued, "I swear, I've been trying to get ahold of you. I regretted everything as soon as I said it - "

Still, I fumed, "You regretted it? Great, but realize that _I_ was the one that had to tell him about the baby - "

" - You didn't _have_ to tell him," Raoul muttered sullenly.

"Yes, I did. I never planned to hide it from him, but thanks to you, we had to talk about it a hell of a lot sooner than we were ready to. Do you have _any_ idea how painful that was for me?"

He nodded, but said nothing more on that topic as he sighed, "He didn't freak out, or - "

" - No, but he's upset," I said bluntly, choosing only that moment to sit down heavily on the couch, a distinct sense of exhaustion taking over, "You need to stop getting between us."

"Right. I _am_ sorry," he repeated, taking the chance to tentatively sit beside me as he attempted to plead his case, "I just...I saw you with him this morning, and I put two and two together, and I'd wanted to tell him to treat you right. _That's_ _all_. But, I don't know...I approached the whole thing wrong, and his attitude bothered me. I reacted to everything badly, I know that."

"Then why'd you do it?"

"I couldn't believe you two were dating," he shrugged helplessly, "I didn't want that."

I scoffed, "But we are, alright? So your interfering doesn't change anything."

There was silence between us after that, lasting just long enough for my words to seem to settle within his mind. And, apparently, long enough for him to consider his reaction before he bit out, shaking his head, "It doesn't make any sense, honestly. What does he have on you?"

Turning to him, forcing him to meet my eyes, I snapped in response, "Are you serious? I resent that you actually think it has to be that way. Why can't it just be something we decided?"

"It just seems sudden…"

"It _isn't_ ," I insisted, standing up again and intentionally towering over him, "We needed time to be ready for a relationship first. Maybe it seems sudden _to you,_ but this isn't anything that's new between us. We just didn't _flaunt_ it, because it's not anyone's business but our own."

Still, Raoul pled with me, seeming to cast all caution to the wind then and demand the answers to the lingering questions in his mind that he couldn't resolve on his own, "Why him, though? Does he even love you? Do you love him?"

"Yes," I said firmly, confidently acknowledging both questions at once, unwilling to let him even begin to attempt to persuade me to say anything to contradict my emotions, "Why does that seem to surprise you?"

"Because the last time I asked you that, you said you didn't know."

"A lot's changed since then."

"Erik Riley isn't good for you, Christine," he said, standing up as well and facing me as he added gravely, "He isn't _good enough_ for you."

"I disagree."

Raoul shook his head, seemingly in dismay that he had been unable to change my mind, even during this short exchange, "I don't approve of this. I won't lie to you."

"We don't _need_ your approval. And if you can't handle seeing us together at work, then that's on you. But don't make any more trouble for us if that happens," I said evenly as I forced another moment of eye-contact, challenging him to question me then, to continue his argument.

He didn't attempt to do either of those things - rather, he just seemed unable to say anything of value from that point of friction between us, and in turn I chose not to draw the encounter out. In the end, I made my stance perfectly clear; whether or not he would decide to accept the present situation as I defined it was entirely beyond my control. Regardless of our friendship, I couldn't make him understand why I moved forward with my life if he wasn't willing to even _try_ to consider my perspective in turn. At best, he needed a chance to step away and collect himself under his own terms. And at worst, it would be impossible for us to continue with our friendship altogether, as much as I hated to consider that outcome for us - it certainly wasn't what I had wanted at all. But I refused be swayed, or to deny my genuine happiness with Erik just to appease Raoul. And so, I had to resign myself to leaving his apartment with the most minimal of parting words, and hope as I walked away that he would come around in time.

Attempting to find at least some solace in that resolution, I pulled my car away from the tight parking space along the sidewalk in front of the building I'd just left, and I forced myself to remember that I wasn't acting out of spite, but rather in a way that would benefit us all. And for the most part, I was able to relax considerably when I took that reassurance to heart. Then, when I was stopped for an extended time at a red light and found out through texts where Erik had gone by that point, I decided to drive out to Schaumburg to speak with him again. Because though I was still incredibly frustrated with him, I also hated how we had separated at work, and I wanted to address the argument as soon as possible. Instinct told me that enough time passed by then to be able to do so effectively, and at any rate, I had already determined that we had to learn to get through conflicts like this properly; if nothing else, I didn't want any lingering tension to continue growing into something that we couldn't control or move past whatsoever. We needed to get ahead of that potential result of our short falling out.

When I finally pulled into his driveway and made my way up the steps to knock on the front door - being mindful to keep the gesture calm this time as I did so - I had to wait several moments afterward for Erik to respond. Absently, I realized I hadn't warned him beforehand that I was driving out from the city; our brief exchanging of messages had only been about whether or not he had gone home yet, and whether or not he wanted to reestablish communication at all or to wait. To my relief, he'd chosen the former, and I acted on that response without thinking my next actions through entirely. But before I could stop again and consider if arriving unannounced might be rude - or even unwelcome entirely in spite of his willingness to talk to me through texts - the porch light flicked on as the door opened. For a moment, Erik seemed genuinely surprised to see me once he recognized who I was, but I didn't miss the relief that flashed in his eyes in the next instant; with that, he stepped aside to let me through regardless of any recent hurt.

Yet we still stood just inside the door upon entering the house, a strained silence settling between us in the small foyer, before he finally asked hesitantly, "Are you staying for a while?"

"If you'll let me, then yes, I'd like to."

He responded with the half-smile that I loved, though his nervousness was clear beneath his appreciative expression. And it was only then that I realized that he was likely expecting our earlier fight to continue now that we were in the same room again - if not something else leading to a worse conclusion of the conflict to happen between us. Distantly, I remembered that he had mentioned once some weeks ago that this would be his first healthy relationship; when I thought about the gravity of his words from the official beginning of our time as a couple, I could equate that significance with this being his first altogether _functional_ relationship as well. If he thought this specific argument would be enough to be the end of us so soon after we began, then he'd probably been worried about seeing me since the moment I walked out of the on-call room, dreading what I would come to say all the while.

Sighing, I knew without having to second-guess the notion that I certainly had no plans to abandon him - I just had to convince him that I was sincere in conveying that. But immediately upon my arrival and silent invitation to stay, we'd agreed not to bring up our fight just yet; rather, placing his hand at the small of my back in the wake of the confirmation that I wanted to stay, he led me through the living room to sit next to him at the piano, an unspoken question forming in his eyes to pull me closer to him as we settled down beside one another. Nodding, I accepted his request easily; my earlier frustration hadn't meant that I didn't miss him.

For a while, we just shared that space without complicating it, each of us remaining lost somewhere in our own thoughts then - but even as outwardly lost as we were, Erik still moved his hands with long-practiced dexterity across the shining keyboard, drawing out a soft melody and moving all the while as if he barely needed to do so consciously. On those past occasions that we spent in this position during the weeks leading up to this moment, his artistry had never failed to impress me; I was grateful that I'd been able to witness it at all. And before long, finally becoming more relaxed than I had been up until that point, I rested my head on his shoulder, watching him continue to play and calmed by the approaching sunset and the few low lights that he kept turned on when he spent his evenings at home - calmed by the music that seemed to have no immediate end in mind.

"I'm sorry," he said softly an immeasurable time later, seeming to wait and gauge my reaction before he continued, "I really am sorry about what happened earlier, that wasn't fair - "

" - I know," I responded quickly, sitting upright again and holding my hand up to stall his apology. He stopped playing and turned to the side enough to face me as I said, "It was just bad timing. But...please believe me when I say that I _was_ going to tell you. I'd just wanted to do it on my own."

"I _do_ believe you, Christine. That wasn't the problem."

"Your problem was the double-standard."

"Right. And Chaney...It's hard to imagine how different everything would be now," Erik sighed, then asked, "Would you have stayed with him? If you hadn't - "

" - If I hadn't miscarried?" I finished for him, not wanting him to have to say the word himself, yet needing to be absolutely sure that every point had been clarified between us before I could answer, "I really don't know. But probably not."

He seemed to accept my words without needing further explanation - at least not right in that moment - but said slowly, "Still, I don't like to think that this might not have happened for us."

"Then don't. It is what it is, Erik. You and I ended up together, and I'm glad we did," I said, but looked away afterward, shifting my focus once more to the piano, simply doing so to have something to anchor my attention as I admitted, "I wish I hadn't miscarried. That was...I really did love my baby," I said, taking a deep breath in an attempt to keep my voice steady, "But I love what we have now. If this was the outcome, then at least all of that wasn't for nothing."

Erik simply nodded, but I sensed that he understood what I was fighting so hard to say to him clearly; from the look in his eyes and the gentle way he took my hand in his, I sensed that I didn't have to explain myself any further in order to make my meaning known to him completely, and I was incredibly relieved that I didn't have to continue to speak to that part of my past any longer. Because having to do so in even the smallest capacity _did_ hurt; it didn't matter that I was so far removed from it now, that sadness would always linger somewhere in my mind, whether I actively regarded it or not. There was a reason that I had kept information about my miscarriage to myself for so long, and to have to relive those memories for the sake of moving forward was as difficult as it was sometimes necessary. Knowing that Erik didn't require more discussion on the subject was a comfort to me. I suspected that he was just as content to let the issue rest.

Rather than say so explicitly, he asked, "Did you talk to the ex?"

With lingering annoyance, I gave a half-hearted laugh, "Yes, I did. He said that he'd overreacted to seeing us together, but at least he had the good sense to apologize."

"Did you forgive him?"

"I will. Right now, though, I need to distance myself from him."

Another nod, then, "What about me?"

"Are you asking if I need distance from you?" I asked, and at his confirmation, I replied, "No, I don't need distance. I don't want it, we had all we needed this afternoon."

"You were wronged by both of us today," he said thoughtfully, returning his hands to the keyboard of the piano, once again playing an idle melody as he continued, "Worse by me."

I sighed, saying with a wistful sadness, "Our first fight."

" _That_ wasn't our first fight, sweetheart," he scoffed, though the reaction seemingly held more levity than anger, "We've been fighting since the day we met."

Unamused, I shook my head, "Maybe. But this is different."

He sighed, "I know it is. I was worried that I'd finally pissed you off enough to drive you away for good," he said, then laughed humorlessly, "I figured I had it coming, though."

"You did _not_ ," I insisted, pulling his hands from the keys and bringing him to face me directly once again as I spoke, "You probably know almost everything about my life now, just like I know yours. Neither of us has a reason to put the other on a pedestal, I've said that before. But I don't think we'd be driven off so easily, either. Anyway, I just want to move on."

"Deal," he said, his half-smile reappearing. He was seemingly content that the overlying issue was as resolved as we could possibly make it, and he pulled me closer to him where he remained on the bench, kissing me firmly before he said against my lips, "I want you to stay here tonight."

And I could only smile when he pulled back to see my response to his request; forming a spoken answer was entirely unnecessary between us. He knew I wanted to spend the night with him just as much as he did with me - I was glad this was in the cards for us now. The sun was beginning to set by then, casting the room further into darkness, but neither of us moved to turn on more lights than were already there; neither of us deemed it very crucial to step away from one another at the piano bench. Once that decision was made, it turned out to be some time before doing so was a matter of necessity to soothe aching muscles, a product of remaining in one place for too long. Otherwise, each of us would have been perfectly content to stay there together all night, if it truly came down to that.

~~oOo~~

When all was said and done, it was easy to determine that we'd accomplished a great deal by managing our conflict over my past, even if the process was less than ideal. After that first upset, we found a way to coexist better than before we'd started dating, and even in the early stages of the relationship; it took time for Erik and I to adjust to the newer dynamics of being a couple, but as the weeks passed, we steadily began to navigate our relationship more effectively - more assuredly - finally realizing that we were faring much better than we'd initially given ourselves credit for. We weren't without fault by any means, and admittedly had more than one argument every now and again, but no more than any couple had. Otherwise, we were doing well. Over time, I understood what often compelled him to act as he did where I was concerned, why he still held onto that stubborn fear that this was all a fluke; as such, it was a relief to see him continue pulling down his barriers for our sake, to see the deliberate effort he made in doing so. I knew that actively trusting his ability to contribute to our relationship would be a gradual process for him, but I was glad to see him try.

We spent as much of our spare time together as we could, though between our hectic schedules and the rising demands of my schooling, the opportunities to see each other were steadily becoming more rare as the end of the semester approached. But even facing that added constraint, we thoroughly enjoyed what time we had, whenever we had it. Staying with him, when it was just the two of us at his house or hiding out in my apartment, was always interesting to observe, somehow intimate even in the simplicity of sharing space. He was generally a quiet man, more so when the effects of his PTSD weren't giving him trouble; I had known that much about him well enough before we started dating, although when he did speak openly he provided excellent company - yet all the same, he was perfectly at ease when that comfortable silence inevitably fell around us. Initially, he worried that I took offense to it, but I could honestly say I didn't. Still, he always tried to engage me, and seemed to enjoy our time together as much as I did - he seemed to appreciate the chance to share it with me, even while viewing days and nights spent alongside each other with careful disbelief. Sometimes I could see it in his eyes. I'd never told him as much, but in some moments, I would catch a flash there akin to wonder at what we had - and very likely, an equal fear of losing it. But then, that detal in his glance would disappear, as if my witnessing it might shatter the illusion altogether.

I loved him all the more for that.

Otherwise, during the seemingly endless weeks throughout April and May, and by the time I finished my surgical rotation and moved on to my next assignment in obstetrics, I hadn't spoken to Raoul for longer than a few moments - but even those conversations were focused entirely on our work at the hospital, or just school and medicine in general.

Without work as a buffer, though, I couldn't bring myself to seek him out to talk. Our friendship wasn't necessarily over, but it stayed extremely strained as a result of his hinting to Erik about my miscarriage - and because of Raoul's overreaction to my relationship status, I was sure it would be some time before we could mend our friendship completely again. That year alone, we'd already needed to do so far too many times, and each subsequent argument between us - regardless of the reasons behind those arguments - only made the thought of complete reconciliation a distant reality. Rationally, I could forgive him for what he said - and being perfectly honest, I already had - but even so, that didn't mean I was willing to allow him back into my life so easily. Not after he had caused so much trouble in spite of promising that he would respect that I had a life outside our shared history. For those reasons, we barely spoke to one another. But silence was necessary, and for the most part, nothing of consequence came from any communication - or lack thereof - that took place.

However, a particular conversation between us - one that was again held within the relatively safe confines of one of our last shifts in surgery - had given me a piece of information about what his plans were for his upcoming internship. Apparently, like me, he'd already decided that he wanted stay in Chicago with our university; but more specifically, his time on our surgical rotation made a lasting impression on him, and in turn inspired him to seek out the opportunity to continue that specialty longterm. From what he said, he felt more than ready for the challenge, and was considering focusing on general surgery. And in the span of that conversation, I sensed that he was simultaneously giving me an unspoken reminder that his choice would mean that he would have occasional contact with Erik for an academic year at least - and possibly longer if he wanted to stick around Cook County for his residency. That outcome remained to be seen, but the topic of Raoul's interest in surgery as a whole was definitely a point of interest.

When I told Erik later that day about what I'd learned, he only rolled his eyes, laughing dismissively, "Heaven help any patients he gets."

"You know he wants to stay here at County for his internship, right?"

"Lovely. Then he should be glad I have no role in evaluating him."

We'd happened to be staying overnight in my apartment after the day's revelation, and had been in the middle of getting ready to go to sleep when that part of the conversation came up. Following Erik's disparaging words - and in spite of how upset I was with Raoul - I found that I'd maintained an instinct to defend my oldest friend from the assumption that he wouldn't do well in pursuing his own career. And anyway, even if that assumption was made for the sake of a joke at Raoul's expense, the fact remained that the potential for future arguments between the two men had just risen considerably. If Erik held his grudge against Raoul for recent incidents of interfering with our lives, and if he was ever put in the position to work in surgery again with any modicum of power over the interns, then I strongly suspected that anything of educational value that could be passed on would be lost to Raoul, all because of their perceived rivalry outside of the hospital. That, or Raoul would keep pissing Erik off in his attempt to continue to convince me that we were ill-suited for our relationship. Either way, the last thing that could be helpful any time soon would be for disciplinary action to be taken against them.

So I said firmly, "Just play nice if you have to see him."

"I'm always nice," Erik said, his manner a bit conceited, though his grin assured that he actually did understand why I'd felt the need to warn him to behave himself. Wisely sensing that there was nothing left to say to that, he changed the subject, "Are you ready to start in OB?"

Shrugging as I pulled him to lay down beside me in my bed, I responded once we were both under the blanket, "Yeah, I think so. Is it hard?"

He shook his head, "Some days are, but not that often. It's mostly just the babies being born and the students assisting the OBs. Y'all aren't given a long leash."

"Did you like doing your rotation there?"

"I really didn't have an opinion either way. The babies were cute, I guess."

"You _guess_? Babies are cute no matter what, you know."

"That's just evolution. They _have_ to be cute, otherwise we wouldn't put up with them past infancy, and the species would die out."

"That's horrible, Erik," I laughed, "You're ridiculous."

"I'm serious. Some kids should be grateful we don't eat our young."

I rolled my eyes, but smiled, "You won't say that when you have your own kid."

" _If_ I have my own kid," he scoffed good-naturedly. Yet my heart sank at his nonchalant admission, my lighthearted mood almost immediately diminished. Suddenly, our discussion no longer felt like the simple pillow-talk it had been just a moment ago; I was sure my expression changed to reflect that distant realization. I'd barely been conscious of what I was saying - had spoken my thoughts so offhandedly - but somehow that didn't matter. Something bothered me about the direction of this topic just the same. But remaining ignorant to my response, Erik continued, "I don't even know if I want children, to be honest."

"Really?"

And only then did he seem to notice that something was off about me, that my voice didn't come as easily as it had been before. Stalling in his attempt to reach out and switch the bedside lamp off - the only remaining light inside my apartment by then - he turned around to face me directly as he asked, "Is that a dealbreaker for you? We haven't - "

" - No, I know we haven't talked about it," I explained quickly, trying to appear unphased by the turn in our discussion. Because for my part, I was still largely undecided on having any children myself, and so I didn't quite understand why this revelation was upsetting to me in the first place. My timing made no sense, and I didn't want to start a fight over nothing. So I added with forced casualness, "This isn't something we have to talk about now. We _just_ started dating."

Still, he was unconvinced, "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"Yes, I am. Anyway, when the time comes to bring it up again, I think we'll know."

In response, he just kissed me, saying, "I'll have to trust your judgment on that."

Our mutual choice to let the subject lie from there effectively prompted the end of that issue - a crisis averted long before it could become anything of great importance, so far as our immediate plans together were concerned. Afterward, we simply turned off the light and moved on to other things to talk about, exhausted from a long day and murmuring to each other in the darkness about everything and nothing before we finally fell asleep. And in the uneventful weeks following that night, I was able to recall those awkward moments with only a mild annoyance in myself, determining that I'd just responded too strongly to a random segue in our conversation - nothing more. We weren't ready to talk about children, about such a life-altering decision with so much finality, I was sure; for the most part, we were still finding ourselves in our relationship, and addressing anything more longterm could wait. Attempting to do so before we were ready would only cause us setbacks, and we had already gone through too many in the course of our time together as it stood. We were both perfectly happy not to mistakenly invite more.

~~oOo~~

In that spirit, as spring ended I returned to occupying my time in whatever manner was appropriate at any given instance, and I kept myself reasonably busy in doing so. Some days, I spent time with the friends I'd made in my building or through school, while I spent other days continuing to get to know Nadir and Sahra a little bit better, as they had both been Erik's closest friends for years, and as such, they came to mean a lot to me as well. Theirs, as it turned out, were two unexpected friendships that steadily developed and strengthened as we saw more of each other on neutral grounds; I was grateful for the opportunity to know them, and especially Sahra. Where in public Erik and Nadir had provided much medical insight when the need arose, Sahra's career as a CPA was a surprisingly welcome reprieve from that aspect of my life. Over time, it became incredibly easy to share company with her in general; she was a remarkable friend. Often, and when our respective schedules permitted, we found time together just to talk, or to visit other mutual friends in larger groups, and I began to find more chances to be social, to enjoy Chicago in a way I hadn't known how to before.

Near the end of July that year, the med students were given some time off - what the university considered to be our equivalent of summer vacation - and though at just a few weeks the time that we were allowed to spend away from the hospital was relatively short, I still made sure to take full advantage of it. Noting that, I made a point to go out to Schaumburg to stay with Erik whenever he extended the invitation - and in turn, he did so often, but I never needed additional prompting to accept.

On one of those visits, I found myself looking for a different version of a textbook to compare notes with, searching for it where Erik had assumed it would be in his upstairs guest room - although without a bed or any other semblance of readiness to host someone, that space could more aptly be described as a glorified storage unit. When Erik joined me to help find the medical text, he explained that the mess was the result of volunteering to store his grandfather's old furniture, books, and whatever other mementos had needed a safe place to go when the elderly man's declining health had required him to move out of his longtime home into an assisted living facility. Erik was the only family member that could be trusted with that task, and therefore had taken in what he could at his grandfather's request. But the problem remained that he had yet to actually organize what he'd gotten. There was very little furniture - rather, it was the boxed up books that overwhelmed the space.

Moving a few of those boxes aside so we could see which ones originally belonged to Erik, he said apologetically, "Everything's still mixed up from when I moved in. I _really_ need to get some shelves up here, or put more downstairs."

I laughed, "Jesus, you could probably build another house with these," then, momentarily forgetting why we were in that room to begin with, I ventured, "So what else _is_ up here? Anything of yours besides your med school books?"

"Not as much as I'm storing for Gene," he shrugged, "But I still have things from the Army, and other old junk, some photo albums - "

" - Can I see those?" I asked brightly, with more eagerness in my voice than intended.

"Sure," he said, and then he smiled, knowing well enough by then that my interest was always inspired by pictures. With that, he gestured for me to follow him away from the middle of the room, and then sat on the floor in front of an old trunk and another stack of boxes, ones that clearly contained items that were separate from his grandfather's possessions. I knew without having to be explicitly told that all of these things had only ever belonged to Erik, that they were likely items he'd kept over his lifetime that maintained a great deal of sentimental value.

As I sat across from him in the small space, he opened one of the cardboard boxes nearest to him, and pulled out several photo albums that were neatly stacked inside - some of which were large and obviously very dated, while others appeared newer. He offered me one of the older collections first, commenting that they had been gifts from his grandfather, although he still wasn't extremely familiar with all of the pictures inside. They were of family that Erik had never met, that he only knew from the stories his grandfather told; there were few living relatives to speak of, but I tried not to show any pity when he gave me that detail. I knew significantly more information about his background by then, and he wasn't exaggerating when he said it wasn't a happy story. Unfortunately, his father made sure of that. He'd spoken to me about him before that day, but at the same time, he'd intentionally done so briefly - and even that much was only to say that he didn't talk to the man if it could possibly be avoided, in turn dealing with the frustration of receiving occasional and decidedly unwelcome phone calls.

According to Erik, he and his father were central figures within a long-standing family conflict that his father set into motion; when Erik's grandfather sided with him instead of Erik's father, the father reacted badly, adding that much more strife to an already long list of problems. For the most part, that was all Erik was willing to say as far as his father was concerned, which I'd determined was more than fair. I had familial issues, of course, but I hadn't experienced the same kind with my own mother - her only transgression against me had been her abandonment, but she'd otherwise agreed to not interfere while my father raised me. But Erik's father had often intentionally sought him out to argue and berate him about one thing or another, leading to years of stress and pain that could've been avoided. I'd once witnessed one of his tirades over the phone, and I would just as soon forget about the exchange altogether. If Erik didn't want to talk about that part of his life longer than necessary to explain the relationship, then all the better. I couldn't blame him for wanting distance.

The rest of his family history was relatively straightforward when compared to that strained father-son dynamic. Because, like me, he just didn't _have_ that much family anymore - he had barely started with any. The loneliness of that truth shone unspoken in his eyes as he passed over the countless photographs he owned of strangers - all of them related to him, and all of them gone before he'd ever even gotten a chance to be reunited with them. His father and his grandfather were the only blood-relatives he had left, and that was painful for him to have to acknowledge. But I understood the feeling well enough; it was very likely that I was one of few remaining members of my own family, and that was an isolating notion. Yet, although I knew it was selfish, I was still oddly grateful to share in it with someone else, even if the surrounding circumstances were distressing. At least now we weren't alone in that respect anymore.

Some time later, once we had finished with the family albums - once I moved to sit closer to Erik, nudging him to drape his arm over my shoulders - we went on to look at the newer pictures. These were entirely his, and obviously much more recent, though still dating back to his early adulthood. In some, I recognized Nadir; I couldn't help laughing at the two of them, almost unrecognizable, though for different reasons. I'd seen images of Erik before he was injured, yet even so, it was somewhat of a shock to see him as he once was - I was used to the scarred man I'd come to know here in the city, rather than that near-stranger captured in scenes from Tennessee, from Duke's campus, from bright moments caught in the desert during wartime. He didn't give many details to those images, nor was I surprised at all by his deliberate omissions. It was rare that he talked about his experiences in the Army - more often than not, he seemed to do everything that he could to separate himself from that time, to somehow put what happened behind him once and for all.

Unaware of my reflections, Erik pointed out various people in the pictures, counting off the names of those he spent so much time with when he was younger. If I hadn't already known the context of what I was seeing, I could've easily assumed that these were pictures of friends hanging out, nothing more. I wouldn't have guessed that those men and women were actually soldiers unknowingly waiting to meet their fates. But they were - every last one of them - and so many of them were dead now, with many of the rest left unimaginably scarred in mind and body.

Erik gave that album a respectful amount of attention, but then put it away quickly.

He didn't speak any further about his friends and fellow soldiers at that point, but indicated that I was free to continue looking at whichever photos were left. And so I reached for one album that seemed to contain fewer pages than the others - one that seemed distinctly out of place among the rest. When he noticed which one I'd picked up, he explained that it was one his godmother had put together for him, because his mother was too often unable to find the motivation or extended period of physical wellness necessary to do so herself. Remembering the morning that Erik succinctly described his mother's addiction to opioids to me, I didn't press for more details about her. Rather, I focused on the pictures of him as a child - some of him playing on a grassy front lawn, others showing him perched at the bench of an upright piano. That, he told me with a weary smile, had been solely his godmother's doing - his beloved godmother Marie Perron, who had deliberately encouraged a quality of musicianship in him that he still possessed and practiced; she had given him that in order to help him escape the awful realities of his homelife while she fought for a more permanent solution, and I knew he was immensely grateful to her for that.

We fell silent again after that moment of recollection - but in that time, I remembered that I'd already seen Marie's face before that day, that I had seen her impossibly kind eyes within an entirely different picture, one held safely in a frame on the mantle downstairs. I'd stumbled upon it the first time I had come into Erik's house, and it was impossible to forget the grief shadowed in his voice that day as he told me who the women in the photo were - that they were both dead. Absently, I noted that Marie was seemingly the polar opposite of Erik's mother, her gaze alone a stark contrast from the mother's stony glance. They were opposites, but still so important to him in their own ways. The fact that he lost both women in the span of a year was a terrible shame.

"What happened to her?" I asked softly, conveying the question as gently as I could.

He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably beside me, obviously near tears and trying to bite them back as he responded, "She had congestive heart failure. She was on the younger end of the people that have it, but she managed it well for a while," he explained, but then he hesitated, "But at one point, it just caught up to her all at once. Someone told me once that she was given a few months to live, but she ended up dying within weeks of finding out her heart was only functioning at ten-percent capacity."

"Oh my God...Erik, I'm - "

But he held up a hand, patiently yet insistently halting my intended words, "Thank you, sweetheart. But _please_ don't say it."

I sighed, "Alright, I won't. But I feel bad about bringing any of this up."

"Don't feel bad," he said softly, then took my hand in his and kissed my palm, adding, "We would've gotten around to talking about this sooner or later."

He was right, and I knew he was sincere in his words - but even so, I didn't miss the slight tremor that remained in his voice, that small indication that this unplanned look into his past and at the gravity of his losses had been exceedingly difficult for him. For an immeasurable time after that, we didn't say anything else, opting instead to sit nearly motionless beside one another, simply coexisting as we fought the ongoing battles in our minds. In the silence that resulted in doing so, I could only hope that he was somehow drawing strength from my being there beside him - that he was gaining _some_ comfort from me, at the very least. He had done the same for me more than once before, had attempted to alleviate my own sadness when he could - often when I allowed myself to be bogged down by memories of my dad, or by the sheer force of missing him when I'd felt that I could've most used my father's guidance. Knowing loneliness as well as Erik did, my ability to return even the smallest touch of reassurance seemed to be all I could do. But when he moved to grasp my hand tightly in his own once again, even though the silence remained in the room, the significance of his gesture wasn't lost on me; I was sure that what I was doing had been enough for him then.

~~oOo~~

We put the sadness of going through those photo albums - and all that came out in the aftermath of our doing so - behind us in due time, though still never to be forgotten entirely. But we carried on together from there as we had always planned, and it wasn't long before we fell back into the usual trajectory of our lives. Namely, the end of summer and all it entailed.

The beginning of my fourth year of medical school happened to coincide with Erik's thirty-fifth birthday in August. And although he'd expressed his pride in me for reaching another milestone in my education, his own birthday was an occasion which he obstinately refused to celebrate, regardless of my offering him the choice to have something even as small as a cake given to him in private. Of course, he declined even that much - though I respected his decision in the end. But beyond that small hitch between us, the new academic year also brought with it the official end of Erik's time working in the ER. _That_ was a notification he had reacted to with considerable relief; he was ready for the renewal of his contract to be set into motion. Because over time, with a great deal of patience from all involved, he'd learned how to appropriately manage the stress of working in that particularly upsetting and chaotic department - but still, even his most successful efforts clearly had their limits - Nadir and Sahra and I had witnessed that much more than once. By the end of his obligation to work elsewhere, he was absolutely prepared to return to his original position on the surgical floor.

By then, several other administrative changes were taking place in various parts of the hospital, each carefully implemented even during the appearance of the third- and fourth-year med students as hiring committees sought to fill the formal positions more efficiently; therefore, Erik quickly learned that from then on he would work under the surgical department's new chief, Dr. Reyes. Her arrival immediately following Dr. Masterson's retirement after his decades-long tenure was a generally welcomed change, as well as an opportunity for the surgeons upstairs to meet Erik's trauma fellowship replacement in the emergency room, Dr. Moreno. The excess of shifting roles didn't come without their own set of difficulties, but they were mostly expected, and were thankfully short-lived; it wasn't long before the overall culture of the workplace returned to its ordinary customs. But altogether, the long-anticipated reassignment and the subsequent changes that accompanied it had provided Erik a much-needed opportunity to reestablish the routine he'd initially planned to adhere to when he had first been hired at our hospital.

Soon enough, the positive effects of leaving work in the ER were steadily becoming more apparent to the few people that had known him well. After the first weeks of once again getting settled and seeing to his work in surgery - and now given a place in an environment that was far more compatible to his general temperament - he was eventually able to taper off his appointments with the social worker that he saw for his cognitive therapy, and by October of that year, they had settled matters between them entirely. Jonah Kim had been confident that doing so was a responsible decision, and while Erik wasn't completely free of anxiety or panic attacks, his handling of them _had_ improved significantly - a feat that was clear to those of us that had witnessed so many of his struggles the previous year. It was almost strange to consider exactly how much changed for him - for both of us, together and individually - in just over a year. But all things considered, I counted us rather successful for coming as far as we had in the process.

For the first time in years, I honestly found myself looking forward to the coming winter, to the holidays that I would've otherwise avoided in the past, and it seemed that Erik shared in that sentiment with me himself. And although he once joked that our lives had grown to be a bit _saccharine_ that autumn, at the same time he was never eager to complain about that quality, either. The general air of confidence between both of us was greatly encouraging in many ways; I made it a point to improve my relationships in whatever state they might have been in, and in turn I gradually found myself talking to Raoul again more often - doing so with less of a need to be aided by some kind of a buffer for the sake of preventing further arguments. And for the most part, in spite of the expected challenges, each of the returning med students had survived our first two rotations, and with marked improvements to show for our efforts. We were slowly but steadily advancing in our education, and before I knew it, we were already a week or so into December, reaching the next rotation uneventfully at that. By then, we'd all finally been granted some relative peace in our lives, and we reveled in it.

~~oOo~~

Erik

I was nearly twenty-one before I'd ever met my own father. But as it would quickly turn out, Nicholas Riley wasn't someone that I was eager to get to know further beyond that first day. Certainly not once I'd actually been introduced to the man and learned why he wanted to find me in the first place. That in itself was a complicated story, nevermind my actual genetic connection to him. By my understanding, I was the product of an affair - Nick was already married when he met my mother, but that fact still didn't stop him from pursuing that extramarital relationship. He just didn't seem to care about who he hurt. By the time I came along, he'd spun my mother lie after lie about the future that he'd have with her - with _us_ \- always handing out his promises and insisting that he would leave his wife for his mistress and the son that they had created. Yet, _conveniently_ , there was never a good time to do so, and then he just stopped coming around entirely, leaving my mother alone and with a child that she'd barely wanted in the first place.

But there was a lot to be said in this situation about Catholic-guilt.

At least, that was how I'd been told it all happened. Whatever the truth was, so much of that experience had destroyed her in the end - later, when I started to understand what finally led my mother to make the decisions she had for herself, for me, I could no longer harbor any more anger against her. Rather, Nick came to be my object of resentment, a representation of the unnecessary pain and abuses I suffered because of his carelessness and abandonment.

The _only_ positive aspect of meeting him at all was also having the chance to meet my paternal grandfather. By chance, he and I got along in spite of time lost between us. Nick never told him about the affair, nor of the resulting child - and Gene was livid when he found out on his own, insisting that my father intentionally forced his grandchild to be a stranger; he clearly held as much disdain for my father as I did - and as such, he never pushed me to make amends. It wouldn't change anything if I had, anyway. They'd already severed contact almost entirely long before I met either of them. My existence only served as that much more of a justification for Gene to stay away from his son indefinitely, but brought together by mutual anger at my father, my grandfather and I at least grew closer as a result, eventually forging a relationship apart from Nick. I hadn't lived in Tennessee since I was eighteen, but I made sure to return as often as possible for the only remaining relative I cared to spend time with anymore. It saddened me that we had been robbed of so many years together in my childhood, but the outcome could've been worse - we could very well have been left with nothing, and never even known it. Frankly, I didn't like to think about that alternative; it felt like an incredibly empty life I wanted no part of.

Christine knew all of those details and then some - had ensured that she learned the whole story over time - and in turn, she mentioned more than once that she was disappointed about not yet having a chance to meet Gene. I understood her disappointment well based on my own experiences, on the fact that I was rarely able to see my grandfather myself. I felt guilty for my absence, but it just was one of many unfortunate realities of what my work schedule meant. Our only regular communication happened over the phone, and though I was grateful to have at least that much, it wasn't enough, either - it wasn't the same as seeing each other face-to-face. So, noting that, Christine and I attempted to do something about that lack of contact at the first chance we found. We'd been dating nearly a year before either of us was able to get the time to travel together extensively, but when I had finally managed to secure several days off for myself that also coincided with the week of the med students' winter break before Christmas, we made immediate plans to drive down to Memphis.

Though the trip ultimately took longer because of our decision to drive from Chicago, Christine and I opted to do so regardless, rather than take advantage of a short commuter flight. For us, having that option meant more time alone together during the trip to talk, as well as more freedom of mobility once we actually got there; in the end, we were satisfied with the outcome. Upon our arrival, and after the necessary introductions, Gene immediately stood up from the wheelchair he'd occupied until then, stubbornly insisting that he didn't need it.

"Both of you give me a hug first," he insisted, "Then we'll go try to get a table out in the courtyard, so long as the weather holds up.

I did as I was told, asking as I embraced him, "You sure you're alright standing?"

"Of course I am, relax," he said, though there was no real irritation behind his words in spite of his gruff manner. As if to prove that point, he turned to Christine next, pulling her into his arms from where she had been standing timidly off to the side, "It's good to finally meet you, sweetheart. Glad y'all got the time off."

"Thank you, so are we," she smiled, and the ice was instantly broken.

My grandfather seemed to have fallen completely in love with Christine - with sincerity, with her kindness and engaging personality, much as I had - from the first moment that they met, and even though I'd already assumed that they would get along well once they were introduced in-person, I was still immensely proud that this instant friendship had been the case just the same; it represented so much more than I could've realized until it actually happened. Never before had I been given the opportunity to present a significant other - someone that I loved so much, as I loved Christine - to a family member. To do so now was almost jarring, somehow exceptionally overwhelming to participate in something so normal. But that didn't mean I wasn't grateful to have the experience now, either, and as we three made our way outside of my grandfather's assigned suite, Christine and I carefully positioned on either side of him while we walked slowly to the guest-area outside, I couldn't help considering how easy it would be for this to become our lives permanently, that Christine and I would stay together in the longterm, that we'd share in what little family that either of us knew anymore.

But I kept that consideration to myself once we settled down to talk - for now, several other subjects passing between us had captured my interest just as thoroughly. And around two or so hours after our arrival - a time that was up until then occupied by more than one enjoyable discussion between my grandfather, Christine, and myself in varied amounts - the sunset had cooled the elder-facility's patio and courtyard significantly. But even so, the still-unseasonably warm Southern weather remained comfortable around us there for much longer than anyone had anticipated, and as a result, at least a half-dozen more families began to file into the space to have their own visits. One of them had a toddler, probably no older than two or three years old, and the little boy was clearly a ball of energy. He reminded me a bit of Zachary at that age, and I smiled at the memory. Christine glanced at me then with an answering smile, seeming to share that association between the children. She only broke her attention away from Gene and I when the toddler approached her, babbling insistently to get her attention.

Indulging him sweetly for his efforts, Christine stood to lead the child back to his family, But instead of returning as soon as he was safely taken to where he belonged, once over there she was quickly caught up in what seemed to be an amiable conversation with them.

"She's a real keeper, Erik," Gene said in a conspiratorial tone once it was apparent that it would be just the two of us seated at the table for a time, "You plannin' on marrying that one?"

I paused then, needing to take a moment to seriously concentrate on collecting myself, because by that point I was fairly certain that I'd started grinning like a lunatic over an outcome that seemed to exist far less distantly the longer Christine and I spent together as a couple, the longer we spent falling in love with each other again and again.

So, considering that what I was about to say was the absolute, God-honest truth, I smiled as I responded, "Actually, yes. I don't know when yet, but if she'll have me, then I _am_ planning on marrying her."


	25. When We Tried Not to Slip

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back, y'all! A quick note about reviewing - because I did some housekeeping on earlier chapters, FFN wasn't recognizing reviews from newer chapters properly, so if you'd like to review this OR the previous chapter, you will have to log out and review as a guest, but ONLY IF you have already reviewed on Parts 1 and 2 of Chapter 17. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I really hope y'all will still let me know what you thought of this update. This will likely not be the case in the future, but I'll make sure to keep y'all up to speed on that front. Major thanks to Riene for pointing the issue out - you have saved me a ton of stress about thinking that my last chapter sucked, so thank you for that! :D Also, a character will show up later in this chapter that is based directly off of Samantha Taggart (played by the lovely and talented Linda Cardellini, OMG, so amazing) from ER - so of course, here's the disclaimer that I do not own her. Finally, the title of this chapter comes from lyrics to the song "The Freshmen" by The Verve Pipe. Thank you all for the love, and I hope you enjoy!_

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Chapter 18 - When We Tried Not to Slip

Christine

Early on during the first part of our journey back to Chicago after the few days spent visiting Erik's grandfather, I'd fallen into silence, preoccupied by my thoughts and replaying significant moments from the trip in my mind's eye. Before then, I'd never been to Tennessee, but I truly enjoyed myself there - enjoyed getting to meet Gene and having the chance to learn more about Erik and his family. The three of us spent the majority of our time simply talking to one another, with the elder Riley most often taking the lead, seemingly doing so as a way of getting caught up with Erik, and making me feel welcome there all at once; whenever he spoke, it was easy to get lost in his words, in the stories he'd recounted that highlighted his heavy and distinct Southern accent. I listened to him much like I'd been able to when my own grandfather was still alive. In a similar manner, Gene and I got along well, doing so early on and maintaining our positive rapport throughout the remainder of the visit. At no point during the interactions that followed our introduction had I sensed even a fragment of forced-politeness or insincerity from him. Rather, I left feeling wholly accepted into his life, and that acceptance meant the world to me. I looked forward to seeing him again.

But still, past experiences had left me somewhat jaded in terms of believing my ability to find lasting approval among the family members of the men I'd dated. And although a part of me knew I wasn't being rational in doing so, I worried all the same about what could potentially come of this meeting - about the possibility that I'd encouraged false hope by determining its success.

Considering that, I hesitantly spoke my unease aloud, raising my voice just enough to be heard over whatever song was playing, "Do you think your grandfather liked me?"

"Are you serious?" Erik asked as he glanced at me, seeming genuinely shocked that I had asked at all. Turning down the radio as a sign that he was going to give me his full attention even as he kept his eyes on the road, he said resolutely, "Christine, he loved you."

"He told you that?"

"Of course he did. Why would you think otherwise?"

I shrugged - though I doubted that he'd seen the slight gesture - as I murmured, "Bad history with families, I guess."

"Honey," he sighed, reaching over the center console and taking my hand tightly in his, as if doing so would emphasize his point, "If he'd had any problems with you, he would've told you to fuck right off. Probably using those exact words," he added with a smirk - upon seeing that expression from him, I was glad that he felt comfortable enough to forego wearing his surgical mask while he drove, deeming it unnecessary while we were still on the interstate where so few people, if any, would be able to see him clearly. Then, he repeated in a steady tone, "Gene loved you. He's _so_ happy you came out to Memphis with me. And so am I."

"I _am_ glad I got to go. I really loved it there, and I loved meeting Gene. He's such a sweetheart," I mused fondly, feeling more at ease than I had even a moment ago. But then, a somewhat dismal thought occurred to me in the next instant, and I felt my good mood fall again as I admitted, "I wish I had some family for you to get to meet, though. The only one I have is my mom, and she's obviously out of the question. I just - "

" - Christine, I wanted you to meet my grandfather because he's a good person, and he means a lot to me," Erik said, his words firm, though he kept his voice gentle, continuing with the same measure of certainty, "We didn't make this trip so I could meet some standard of etiquette because we're together. This wasn't a favor for you to return. If you're the only one in your family that I ever get to know, I'm grateful for that much. Alright?"

"Alright," I said dispassionately - then immediately realized that using that tone could've easily been interpreted as a sign of bitterness in me. I didn't want him to think that I hadn't taken his words to heart, because I _was_ beginning to be able to - I just couldn't properly articulate that reaction yet. And so, instead of leaving the discussion on a sour note, I hoped to acknowledge his sincerity by allowing a little more brightness to paint my words, "You're very sweet, Erik."

"I'm very honest, Christine," he replied, mimicking my tone.

And I was able to laugh at that in spite of myself; I was sure he'd spoken as he had on purpose, that he assumed his levity would ensure a happier response from me. So, seeing that we were now returning to the easy interactions we'd maintained before the more stressful part of our conversation, I ventured, "I keep forgetting to ask you, but since we left I've been wondering what you and Gene talked about when I wasn't around."

"Why?"

"Because I caught him grinning like a kid sometimes, and I think _you_ knew that."

Erik smiled at my hidden accusation - good-natured though it was - and said, "That's all? You make it sound like we were plotting against you."

I laughed again, "Were you?"

"Absolutely," he said, the humor clear from his side of the banter, but then he quickly evaded answering my question by posing an unrelated one of his own, "Do you want to stay with me when we get back into Chicago? Or would you rather go home?"

Sighing, I knew he didn't intend to directly respond to me. But by his doing so, I also simply decided that his teasing meant nothing of consequence had actually happened while the two men spoke when I wasn't nearby - nothing that I needed to be concerned about, at least. My curiosity was likely piqued just because of the newness of the situation. Noting that, I let the subject rest, replying, "I want to stay with you, if that's alright."

"It's always alright," he said, taking my hand once more and kissing it before saying, "Thank you again for coming with me. Gene and I both loved having you there with us."

Smiling, I squeezed his hand in return before leaning back into my seat contentedly, ready to settle down and enjoy the rest of my time as a passenger - after a few hours, I was going to take over behind the wheel and give Erik a break, and so I decided that relaxing now would be wise. We didn't speak for a while after that exchange, opting instead to turn the music back on as we traveled further away from Memphis. But later, the rest of our trip was filled with more neutral topics of discussion, and that was a relief for each of us - because although my worries were largely unfounded and then resolved through Erik's reassurances, in general we were both incredibly tired from driving so far, and for so long. For the immediate future, easy conversation was all we could manage.

By the time the sun had long-since gone down past the horizon - once the interstate eventually gave way to the denser pre-holiday traffic leading into Chicago, before we finally came upon the snow- and salt-lined roads of the city itself - we were well beyond exhausted. Our only required stop on the way back to Erik's house was to pick Rex up from Nadir and Sahra, as Erik had been wary about taking a pit bull into any state where the breed was either banned or restricted; even with the proper documentation to prove that Rex was a legitimately trained and certified service animal, Erik hadn't wanted to take any chances. Thus, the dog had stayed with our friends until we returned. But after a brief visit, we were both more than ready to go home, go to bed, and put off anything else that needed to be handled until the next morning.

For the most part, neither of us had any major commitments that we needed to fulfil before Christmas the following week. Otherwise, until then we were free to enjoy the rest of my break together; and at that point, I considered it time well spent.

~~oOo~~

Just as we'd done the previous year, Erik and I both volunteered to work during this year's Christmas Eve and Christmas Day overnight shifts, offering to do so primarily to lessen some of the professional burden for our colleagues. It wasn't any trouble for us to be there for each night - I would be staying in Chicago either way, and Erik didn't care much for the holidays in the first place. Even prior to becoming a couple, he'd always referred to himself as grudgingly agnostic, but for him to actually celebrate Christmas or any other religious holidays had never been a priority to him. For my part, I'd long-since stopped looking forward to the winter holidays as a rule; without my father to observe them with me, any type of celebration was too painful to experience, even when I was with Raoul and we were kept occupied by his family's traditions. In recent years, I simply preferred to skip the whole ordeal altogether.

This time around, however, I was admittedly happy to at least have someone there by my side that I cared about so deeply - even if our version of a holiday celebration was limited to briefly exchanging gifts before leaving for work, and days spent recovering from our long shifts curled up in bed together. But if that became our tradition, then neither of us had any complaints. To be honest, I was perfectly content to work again in the future as I had during my first years of med school rotations, to steal a few moments with Erik whenever an opportunity arose for us. On this date a year ago, we had just barely started talking to each other once more after falling out so badly, fighting our way through so many personal and collective issues before we were both ready to come together again - even if that was only as friends. I didn't want to dwell on wondering how long our reconciliation might have been delayed if Erik hadn't extended his olive branch and asked me to meet him on the roof last Christmas. As such, I was grateful now that everything between us had shifted so drastically in our favor. I didn't think I would ever get used to every aspect of our relationship that had changed for us since we'd first met, yet I didn't necessarily consider that to be anything negative, either.

In the end, although we were assigned to spend both of the overnighters in separate departments, the shifts themselves unexpectedly gave us several more chances to sneak away than we'd gotten last year, especially once the rush of incoming patients slowed down, and our superiors cleared us for periodic breaks. From there - and with some assistance and knowing glances from friends that were also on-call during those nights - Erik and I had often wandered away from our respective posts, always going off somewhere to talk and pass the time alone together and to kiss in darkened areas of the hospital. Unorthodox though Christmas had turned out to be for us, I sincerely loved every moment of it, as much as I had enjoyed the following week, where we shared New Year's Eve in much the same fashion as the previous year - though the conclusion of that second New Year's was _far_ more agreeable for the both of us than the first had been. Because when the sun rose again on New Year's Day, we were free to stay in one another's embrace, silently acknowledging the contrast between that morning and the bittersweet one the year before.

Afterward, the beginning of my final semester finally kicked off, and with that came my next rotation in surgery. That in itself was something I'd been looking forward to, simply for the fact that I remembered how challenging my first assignment in that department had been; but the experience was made that much more interesting by having the chance to see Erik working in his own element for the first time. I'd often noted how talented of a physician he was when we had worked together in the emergency room, but the few times so far that I was able to observe him alongside my resident now, I realized exactly how suited he was to his role as a surgeon, while functioning in that capacity in a strictly surgical environment. It was saddening for me to remember that even this position caused him a moderate amount of stress, but I could be glad all the same that at least the stress wasn't nearly as overwhelming as it had been when he was still down in the ER. So many times during his contract there, I saw him fall into incredibly dark and hopeless states of mind, ready to collapse under the pressure of everything he saw throughout the days he worked there. In surgery, that kind of reaction was properly controlled, and he mentioned to me more than once since returning that he was better off for being back.

My assigned rotation had also coincided with our one-year anniversary, an occasion when Erik had surprised me by insisting that we celebrate the event, although he wanted the details to be left solely to him. Handing over control required no effort as far as I was concerned, and while I knew that he wasn't the type of man to approach this sort of situation with any terrible extravagance - a quality in him that I appreciated endlessly - I also knew that he would mark the day by thoroughly acknowledging the significance of the date somehow. I loved him for that. It wasn't very often that we had the chance to actually go _out_ on dates, something that Erik had expressed guilt over, even as his doing so was unnecessary; we were both aware of my role in that problem as well. But the fact remained that a full-time trauma surgeon paired with a med student in her final year meant that little time could be spared outside of medicine, at least during those beginning stages of our relationship.

And anyway, beyond the inevitable realities and constraints of our careers, we had also come to the unspoken understanding that Erik highly preferred to spend as much time separate from others as possible - another point of contention that existed in his own mind, but something that we were handling just the same. I wasn't slighted that he felt considerably more at ease in the confines of his own house, or in my apartment, or anywhere that we could share time and space together without having to do so with crowds around us. The countless hours we spent hiding away in a world of our own up until that point had created some of my fondest memories, and I wouldn't trade those for any excursions or whatever else he thought I was missing.

Still, Erik was determined to mark our one-year by spending it together somewhere on the edge of the city, surrounded by the lights and the noise and the rush of life to be found there on the lake. Upon witnessing his excitement for the first time after he'd walked into my living room - even as that excitement mingled with some of the remaining nervousness in his eyes - I couldn't deny that the idea was as appealing to me as it was to him. Once I was ready, I allowed him to take my hand in his and lead me out of my apartment, smiling all the while.

Unlike the year before, the weather held out in a comfortable range that night, even for quite a while after sunset. The steady breeze coming off Lake Michigan was still unmistakable, but not altogether as bad as it could often become under harsher conditions. Erik and I walked slowly along one of the paths on Lakefront Trail beside the water for a time, starting out at that location well beyond the docks simply to catch up with one another after our tiring work day. Even though we were both settled up in surgery now, our earlier shifts had been particularly hectic, and we'd had almost no chances to see each other for any lengthy period of time - not even long enough for a quick greeting. Days like that weren't uncommon, though, and not for the first time, I was grateful that we could see each other when we wanted to outside of the hospital.

Politely stalling our conversation, and stopping us next to a small observation platform overlooking the part of the shore we could see, Erik turned me to face him directly as he took off his surgical mask, then pulled me into an embrace. We stood there in silence then, maintaining that silence as easily as we had so often before, and my mind turned once again to what our relationship had grown into over the past year. Wondering distantly if his thoughts were at all with my own, though never pulling away entirely, I leaned far enough from him to be able to look into his eyes - and I saw contentment there, once a rarity that I was absolutely determined to have become a permanent fixture in his consciousness. In this setting, it was easy for him to let the rest of his concerns stay idle while he made sure to enjoy himself, to make me happy in turn. But he had to mindfully do so even right now, while I wanted so badly for that ability to become second-nature for him. He deserved as much and then some. And so, when he smiled at me, I returned the expression, hoping that my own smile would provide the reassurance he needed, and I kissed him.

After several more lingering kisses and whispered endearments passed between us - and when he'd replaced the mask - we continued to walk, eventually stopping off the main path to buy coffees from one of the vendors populating the area; doing so had become a necessity once we ran out of luck and the temperature outside fell to the point of discomfort. We laughed with only a mild sense of annoyance when it did, counting ourselves fortunate to begin with that we'd fared better than past excursions to that part of the city. And with a mark of boldness then, Erik took off the mask once again to be able to drink his coffee right there, rather than having to wait - another rarity from him, and a habit that I doubted would ever leave him entirely. But in spite of the several other groups of people that were also out that night to take advantage of the relatively good weather, very few of them halted their progress in order to give Erik that dreaded second-glance, and I knew without having to be told that he was grateful for the opportunity to simply _be_ , to spend time outside without being made to feel like an other. He didn't say so aloud, but I knew how much that meant to him.

We spent a little while longer out walking on Lakefront before we finally gave in to our shared exhaustion and growing discomfort from the worsening chill in the air - at that point, we didn't need to convince the other that Erik's warm and quiet house in Schaumburg was far more attractive than the idea of staying indefinitely along the shores of Lake Michigan. I had loved our time there together so much that night, but the preceding day was catching up to me faster than I'd initially realized, and once we were in his car driving back out to the suburbs, it had become the consensus between us to just immediately fall into bed and stay there well into the next morning. At least, that had been our original intention upon arrival.

Once we were settled into Erik's house for the night, however - once Rex was secured near his favorite heater vent downstairs and Erik and I were getting ready for bed ourselves - it appeared that neither he nor I was ready to actually go to sleep anymore.

Rather, once I'd returned from an extended and likely too-hot shower, Erik reached out and carefully pulled me down next to him in the bed, before quickly shifting us to lay alongside each other once he'd gained my full attention. But even so, I initially gave a startled laugh at his gesture, as I was almost certain in the moment before he moved from where he was laying that he'd already fallen asleep, relaxed from his own shower earlier and the overall comfort of being home after our long day. In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, I had only glanced at him before turning away to tie my hair up, but apparently I hadn't looked closely enough. In being perfectly honest, though, as soon as he put his arms so possessively around me, I was glad that I was mistaken in my assumption that he slept while I was getting ready for bed - the prospect of so much physical contact between us now was a welcome one, even despite the weariness from the day. He briefly shared my laughter, before once again moving to bring me that much closer into his embrace. And without needing any further prompting from him, I met his mouth as he sought after mine for a kiss - one that deepened immediately upon contact.

No words passed between us after that - we knew each other so well by then, had become so in-tune with one another's mind and body that, since the first time we slept together and from each encounter afterward, we'd grown steadily more able to understand without having to speak what we wanted to find in the other that night. Any words we could capture beyond that point would almost certainly become no more than aphrodisiacs, I was sure, rather than modes of communication between lovers. Within moments, Erik carefully reached over and turned off the lamp before returning to me, holding me close to him again, parting my lips with his tongue and moving it sensuously with mine; even with only the full moon beyond the curtains and the ambient light from outside to guide our hands, we fell into sync with each other quickly. From there, we each worked to slowly strip ourselves of what little clothing we wore to bed, until there was nothing left covering us, until there was just heated skin touching skin; we moved within the darkness to use our hands and our mouths and our softly spoken challenges to entice the other, to elicit a purely carnal response.

As alluring as that was, though, after time I couldn't stand the teasing and the foreplay anymore, and so I pulled Erik to position himself above me, signaling that I was ready to be taken completely. Ensuring that he didn't allow his full weight to come down on me, he braced himself on either side of my body, leaning forward just long enough to give me another searing kiss; and then all at once, I felt his arousal against my inner-thigh, felt his subtle urging for me to part my legs, and he was finally inside of me. I gasped at the length of him, at the fullness I felt, wrapping my legs around him and coaxing him to begin moving his hips so I could meet his rhythm. Whispered words and sweet nothings were exchanged in the dark then; as he moved against me and inside me, pitching his hips forward until we were both breathless, it seemed that once again we were the only two people left in the world. Anything and everything else had fallen away, had meant nothing simply for the fact that we were experiencing this act together - that now we were free to love each other and to hold one another and to make love without the fear of regret or pain that had almost ended us once. I clutched him tighter at the thought.

When it was done, Erik moved to lay beside me again as we both paused to catch our breath, each of our hearts pounding in our chests with the excitement of a shared and intense climax. We simply existed there in that bed, all tangled limbs and fervent kisses. Only after we had both calmed ourselves down once more did Erik speak again, murmuring words into the darkness of the room so softly that I had to turn that much closer to him in order to hear.

But it was impossible to be mistaken when he said, "I love you."

And I smiled, "I love you, too."

~~oOo~~

One evening near the end of April, as the academic year prepared to close out, I had decided to drive out to Erik's house after my last shift before the weekend. All throughout the trip, I was looking forward to having some time when I wasn't required to come into the hospital the next day, excited that this had finally happened to coincide with one of his days off as well. There had been so few thus far in the semester. Every now and again we would find ourselves with somewhat flexible schedules, but as graduation approached, so had my workload steadily increased, and in turn we hadn't gotten many chances to see each other for any extended span of time. That weekend, we were both impatient to do something about it.

We planned for me to spend the night in Schaumburg with him - though my stay would likely go on longer than that. And although we didn't otherwise have any specific ideas in mind for how we'd occupy those hours, beyond a few obvious activities, it turned out altogether to simply be a _nice_ evening - a comfortable and affectionate night together that I spent in his arms, or in his bed, so much time taken up by sharing our space and our thoughts. As I'd done often before, sometimes I'd break away for a while to study, always doing so with Erik nearby, usually keeping busy with some other task of his own, yet staying available if he heard me murmuring questions about course material I was still unfamiliar with. The details of what we chose to do didn't matter - regardless of where we found ourselves, of what we did when we spent time in each other's company, we still fit side-by-side so well, and in more ways than one.

"I wish I could've known you when you were still a student," I'd said thoughtfully at one point when the conversation we were having that night eased up, absentmindedly stirring the coffee I'd poured only moments earlier as I tried to picture Erik when he was younger, piecing together the details I already knew, alongside the image of him as I had seen it so many times by now in that old and faded picture on his mantle.

"I had a _massive_ chip on my shoulder when I was a med student, though, remember? You probably wouldn't have liked me," he said, but quickly and unsurprisingly moved away from that topic in the next instant, and I suspected that this was going to be another point that would be brought up again later. But he'd kept his voice light, clearly hadn't been bothered by the turn our discussion had taken; and at my silent prompting for him to continue talking one way or another, he asked instead, "What'd you want to do before choosing med school?"

Pausing at his question, I reached forward to where Rex had fallen asleep on the floor in front of me, gently patting him on his side as I determined what to say in response.

Erik already knew that I went to a nearby community college after high school, doing so mainly at my father's request for me to be responsible, to work toward something I could use to take care of myself when he was gone - a career which was as-yet outside of a medical degree. But my enrollment in a school of any kind was the only surety in my life then; moreover, it never meant that I'd found other definitive goals, certainly not when I had barely reached adulthood. By the time a little more than a year passed, my life was chaotic in no way that was motivational; I was constantly working, wearing myself out to the point of physical pain to survive on minimum wage, and I was just learning how to properly grieve for my father. But over time, I became so fed up with always feeling miserable that I finally convinced myself to move forward, doing so gradually and with a vague yet steadily growing interest of helping people in mind, hoping that I was making the right decision all the while.

Another shining example of my naivety - but everything _had_ been for the best, when I actually looked back and compared myself to who I was then and the person I'd become now. I had a lot to show for it, and in a way, I was looking forward to sharing that information with Erik.

I laughed softly at the memories that came up before I admitted, "I never had a _solid_ plan before med school was a thing. Just ideas, like maybe becoming a CNA or a nurse, something like that. But after my dad died, and after I got back on my feet, I decided I wanted to do more. And I had to catch up, so I left the college I was in at the time and went to one that offered a better range of classes. I told you a while back that I'd started dating Raoul around then, right?" I asked, and when Erik grudgingly confirmed, I continued, "So when I was taking odd jobs and going to school and thinking about transferring to a university, Raoul was finishing up a different degree to work for his dad. Eventually we both decided on medicine," I explained, adding the end quickly, knowing that neither of us wanted to delve further than I already had into the specifics of my relationship with Raoul. Instead, feeling that I had shared enough, I concluded, "So what I _wanted_ to do before med school was still medical. But I don't think being a nurse or anything else was ever a longterm goal for me."

Erik nodded, seeming to appreciate the brevity of that part of my explanation. When I set my coffee on the end table beside the couch, he moved to lie down, resting his head on my legs as he spoke, "I'm sure you would've been an amazing nurse, though. You're great with anything that requires compassion. I think I knew that I loved you when I realized how much you care about people. You really do care about your patients," he mused, looking up at me and smiling, then spoke again and echoed the sentiment that I shared with him at the outset of this part of our conversation, "It would've been nice to have known you back then, too."

And I couldn't help the answering smile that I gave at his words, resting my hand over one of his already lying on his chest and distantly wishing then that we could've somehow met each other long before we had - and I wondered in the same moment what would have become of us if that were the case. Yet I also knew that there was no reason to dwell on that notion for too long. As it stood, I was perfectly content with what we had now, with our shared life as we knew it - we both were. As I'd told Erik more than once before that day, there truly wasn't a single detail I wanted to change about what we had in the present, even if what happened in each of our respective pasts to get to this point had been painful.

~~oOo~~

The day I graduated from medical school fell just days after my twenty-ninth birthday at the end of May, and had proven itself to be a bittersweet occasion, more so than I'd imagined it might have been from the outset. I was grateful to have gotten as far as I had in my education - finally reaching that significant milestone after working toward it for so long - and I felt sincere happiness in the certainty that my father would have been proud of me for the success. Still, at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to even temporarily ignore the fact that I likely would never have made the choice to become a doctor in the first place if he hadn't gotten sick. Losing him was the central catalyst in that decision, and although following through with it meant that I had obtained the skills necessary to care for families similar to my own, that didn't erase the fact that my father was gone; I could help others now, but there was no longer a chance to help _him_. His absence in the face of my accomplishment was painfully obvious throughout the graduation ceremony - I found it difficult to let go of that weight in my heart. As I heard my name called over PA system, drowning out the crowd and summoning me onto the stage to receive my diploma, I was well aware of who _wasn't_ there in the audience to see me walk.

But I was proud to be there at all, and bearing that pride in mind, I forced myself to take some comfort in that. Being able to glimpse Erik, Nadir, and Sahra in the audience also helped me with the effort to a degree - I clearly heard them cheering for me when I crossed the stage, and their doing so helped me to regain a considerably more genuine smile. It stayed with me even as I returned to my seat among my classmates.

Once the formal ceremony was finished and I was able to wend my way through the dense crowd of graduates and their guests, I ran to Erik the moment I spotted him. He caught me when I approached him in my exuberance, holding me tightly in his arms and giving me a firm and lingering kiss as a form of greeting. He was dressed as casually as he would allow himself to be seen among present- and former-coworkers, clothed in simple dark jeans and a button-up with the sleeves cuffed high on his forearms. That was the first time I'd been able to see him that day, and as such I hadn't been expecting this appearance. But I was that much more surprised when I noted that he had let his tattoos and his scars stay visible to the world, and more so that he'd gone without a surgical mask for the occasion. It was still very rare that he wouldn't wear one when he was in public for so long, but I was admittedly grateful that he'd made that decision - I reveled in seeing the smile that he gave me when we parted, one that I could appreciate under the sunlight that shone over the university's courtyard.

After offering me a kind and brief congratulations, Nadir and Sahra left us alone again - doing so in part to go off and speak with some of the other graduates, and in part to allow us a private moment before we all set out to spend the rest of the afternoon together. From there, I impatiently took off my cap and gown, and Erik ushered me away from the larger main crowd. Hand-in-hand, we set to walking around that section of the campus for a time, going slowly now by comparison to leaving the graduation itself, having no real reason to rush. Eventually, we'd made our way to a more deserted area of the grounds, where the din of voices and celebration wasn't nearly as excessive or distracting. We found a cluster of trees there that I'd mentioned in passing being fond of before, and that now provided us with enough shade to be comfortable while we hung around; and we just stood there for a little while, catching up since we'd last seen each other, enjoying the distinct sense of euphoria that could only follow this kind of occasion.

Then, when the conversation found its natural lull, Erik took a box from his pocket to present to me. I recognized it as a jewelry case immediately, but I was still surprised when I opened it to find a necklace adorned with a small emerald pendant, my birthstone.

"Belated gift for your birthday. And for graduating," he explained - even though it wasn't necessary for him to do so then - as I smiled over the open box in my hands, before he added with a laugh, " _And_ for your internship."

Still smiling, I shifted the box carefully to keep the necklace safely inside, and hugged him tightly, "Thank you, Erik."

He kissed me softly before he responded, "You're welcome."

"Will you help me put it on?"

He nodded, and when I turned and brushed my hair aside, he said as he worked the clasp of the necklace, "You have no idea how proud I am of you. I can't say it enough."

"You helped me get to this point, you know," I replied as I turned to face him again, then teased, "I've said that before, and I think you should be proud of your own teaching."

He laughed again, "No, I only _tutored_ you. You're the one that took the information and applied it the right way," then continued, "I could've spent every minute of your rotations talking you through your procedures, but that wouldn't have been worth a damn thing if you didn't take the time to learn it all yourself."

"Well, either way, I'm glad I had you here," I conceded lightly, then paused to reach up and touch my fingertips to the emerald, admiring the necklace it hung from, my other arm now draped over Erik's shoulder. But in the next instant, my thoughts turned once again to my father, and I felt the sudden shift in my mood that resulted, felt the renewed sadness that threatened to overwhelm me as it had before.

Erik noticed the change at once, tilting my chin to look up at him, "What is it?"

"I've just been thinking about my dad a lot today," I replied uneasily, clearing my throat in an attempt to keep my voice even, then continued when Erik indicated that he understood what I was trying to say, "It's like this every time he misses something."

He nodded, "I had Nadir and Gene with me when I graduated, but that was all. I wanted my godmother there, too, and even my mom," he said, pulling me close to him again, brushing my hair aside gently, "I know this hurts, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

Sighing, and knowing that there was nothing more I could say then, I just shifted to rest my head against his shoulder, arms held tightly around his waist. I felt the remaining ache of my grief strongly; yet even so, I was also somehow able to see past that grief and appreciate this moment between us for what it was, recognizing this secure embrace and the whole of our conversation as another assurance of our compatibility. So, welcoming the idea, I whispered, "I'm glad I came to Chicago."

"So am I."

"I think you're biased."

"Probably," he pulled away and shrugged casually, his eyes shining once more with the levity we were sharing as he continued, "That doesn't make it any less true, though."

"I'll give you that."

"I'm glad you came to Chicago, too," he began, mirroring my words before he asked with only a small trace of hesitance in his voice, "But would you ever want to go back to San Diego?"

"I'm not sure. A few years ago, I could see myself building a life there. But I think that's because it's familiar, and I _felt_ established back then, or as much as I could. Now I want to make that happen somewhere else. I see my life continuing on Chicago, honestly."

"Good. I want to be a part of that," he said resolutely, "I hope you'll _let_ me be a part of it."

Immediately accepting the request in my mind, I smiled in return - at the earnestness that he was so openly displaying for me, toward his admission of wanting to stay in my life as someone of great significance. And actually, it felt right for us to start having more discussions like this, to start giving each other these kinds of lasting offers and requests, and then coming to more concrete decisions when we could - because while Erik and I hadn't yet gotten into lengthy conversations about getting married at some point down the line, the subject had been broached before, and we'd each made it clear that neither of us would be opposed to the idea. We _wanted_ our future to unfold together, were deliberately acting in ways that were pointing us in that direction, and that fact became more pronounced as time went by.

So I responded primly, honestly, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

He gave a smile of his own then, and in the moments that followed our exchange, we simply fell into another companionable silence, my arms now draped over his shoulders, his securely braced around me. When we spoke again, we did so in murmurs, and of lighter topics. Everything that needed to be said between us had just been declared - at least for the time being - and for now, we didn't need to fill the air with absolute words of commitment.

~~oOo~~

My oncological internship under Dr. Nila Tavade was set to start at the beginning of July that summer. But while I was looking forward to being able to practice medicine with increasing independence, I wasn't so naive as to think it would be uncomplicated. In comparison to working through med school, starting my internship with a stronger foundation would likely not bring me much trouble, but that didn't mean the preparation itself wasn't overwhelming.

Because adding to that, I also needed to manage the tasks of moving out of the student housing building and attending the mandatory first-time meeting with my future colleagues. All of which, incidentally, realistically had to happen before the internship term even began, leaving me with just under six weeks to get everything done. Altogether, that proved difficult enough, but it was moving out that brought me the most apprehension; for all the progress that we made, Erik and I simply weren't ready to live together yet, and I knew I would have to find a roommate to be able to afford living off-campus. But by that point, and once I was more or less ready to move - whenever I'd actually be _able_ to - I had to attend my department's week-long intern orientation, an event which was dubbed the Intern Pre-Union. But even though the title of the event seemed somewhat juvenile, I was otherwise looking forward to the event itself.

The first day, however, was still incredibly awkward - it wasn't until the third or so day that we'd collectively managed to break the ice enough to begin to feel like a community, like a cohesive group that would be working closely together from that point on. Communicating _did_ gradually get better from there, thankfully - the only hurdle left for the cohort was a few interns continuing to be reserved, learning what the climate of the department generally was, but still waiting to show any sort of personality quirks until they were sure that they were allowed to do so. Admittedly, I behaved in that manner as well, approaching my coworkers tentatively, and more than once I had to remind myself of where I was, to pull away from that shyness; but in turn, I began to worry that this uneasiness would always be the state of things in oncology. I'd mentioned that particular concern to Erik most of the nights I spent with him, and every time I did, he assured me that dynamics would improve, that we were still mostly strangers to one another. It was only when I took his advice to heart that I began to feel more at home in my chosen specialty, speaking to my peers as colleagues rather than just as strangers, and in the end that served me well.

Specifically, on the last day of the Pre-Union - when I was _finally_ starting to remember more of the names and demeanors and so many other key details about the members of my cohort - I noticed one of the women that was closer to my age approaching the bulletin board that I was looking at, just outside of the interns' locker room.

We smiled in friendly recognition of each other, and from there she gestured to the board and flyers tacked to it, saying, "Since you're looking at this thing, I have to ask. Do most people even take the ads seriously? I mean, if _you_ were looking for rentals or roommates or something, would you pull off a phone number tab instead of ignoring it?"

I laughed at her bluntness, but I appreciated it just the same as I responded, "Speaking for myself, I actually do take them seriously," then added, somewhat abashedly, "I'm sorry, I've seen you all week, but I'm completely blanking on your name right now."

And she laughed in return, extending her hand, "No problem. I'm Meg Garrison. And you're Christine...something."

"Durant. But anyway, you were asking about the bulletin board?"

She sighed, seemingly in frustration, and I suspected then that she wasn't having much success in gaining attention for whatever it was that she was trying to advertise. And in the next instant, she proved my assumption correct as she said, "My old roommate bailed on me at the last minute, and I've been having a hell of a time filling the room again," she held up her ad, "It's a good place, and it's nearby, but apparently most people have somewhere to live already. But I wanted to try posting this here instead of getting some asshole off Craigslist."

"Smart," I murmured, taking the proffered ad, "This is pretty reasonable."

She nodded, "It's an older building, but it's in a good neighborhood. The landlord's living out of state and doesn't really want to worry about the property," she explained, "So when the old roommate broke the lease, the landlord just told me to sublet. _You_ wouldn't be looking to split an apartment, would you?"

Making a quick decision, I said with genuine enthusiasm, "Actually, yeah, I am."

"Great! Are you leaving for the day?" she asked, and at my nodded response, she said, "If you're interested, we can talk about it some more, and I'll show you the pictures."

I agreed to the suggestion, and from there, we escaped to one of the less populated coffee shops down the street from the hospital, soon getting to talking about possibly forming a living arrangement. After a while - after discussing the pictures of the space that Meg showed me on her phone, and the various other practicalities that needed to be addressed - it was easy for us to determine that we could make a roommate situation between us work well. We turned out to have enough in common to begin establishing a friendship, and I was grateful that moving out of my current apartment and into the new one had come about so easily, and with someone that I sincerely liked to be around. I enjoyed Meg's company, and we both decided shortly after our coffee shop meeting that it really would be beneficial for us to each have another intern from oncology nearby during the year's assignment. If we could help each other in any way, then all the better. By the end of our conversation, we exchanged phone numbers and planned to meet a few more times throughout the coming weeks.

Once we had spoken more often in-person and had gotten to be reasonably comfortable around one another, we were ready to handle the actual logistics of the sublet, and soon enough we got the final approval from the landlord, wrote up a roommate agreement draft, and - relieved that the process had been completely painless when it was all said and done - I was finally able to move in and get settled at the end of that month.

~~oOo~~

By mid-August, the new interns were already several weeks into our program - but even in that relatively short span of time, and though I loved my role in the department in _concept_ , the reality was that oncology was absolutely exhausting, demanding, and stressful, and very rarely were any of us granted much leeway when we might have been before. We were still guided by our superiors to a considerable extent, but we were also held to a far higher standard all at once, decidedly more so than we had been as students. Having the title of _doctor_ in front of our names now had quickly shifted us all into an entirely new identity, one that even our years of schooling hadn't quite prepared us for - not completely, nor in an abstract sense. Officially, we had known what to do for our patients, and were continuously learning how to better apply those skills, but to experience everything we were going through firsthand became another matter altogether; it was difficult to describe that feeling, even to those sharing in it, yet somehow we all understood.

After one particularly difficult shift, Meg and I were walking back home when she asked, "Do you ever feel - and hear me out before you answer me - but do you ever feel like Tavade wants to punish us?"

I laughed at her phrasing more than the actual words, knowing her well enough by that point to realize that she was only being half-serious then, though I still knew the source of her question better than I cared to admit. I was thankful to have found a friend in Meg, to have met someone that was going through the same challenges as I was. Like me, she had decided to go into medicine later in life than many of our peers, yet in general she felt significantly more sure of herself as a result. But while she was incredibly driven and goal-oriented - determined to make a life for herself and to take care of her aging mother back in Maryland as well - she also had in common with me the rather unfortunate and inconvenient trait of allowing misplaced anxiety to fuel doubt at the worst possible times. Often, we found ourselves having to talk the other off of the ledge, if only for the sake of encouraging reassurance in our actions; this day was just one example of many similar occasions to remind me of that fact.

Sighing, I answered her question, "I'm not really sure. I'm honestly afraid of her, though."

And that much was true - I respected the hell out of Dr. Tavade as my resident, but with that respect simultaneously came a healthy does of fear. She was a daunting woman in her own right, though we had come to find out that she'd behaved that way very much out of necessity, a powerful confidence born from fighting through years of discrimination - between her religion, her race, her gender, so much about her set her apart from her colleagues from the outset. It didn't matter what decade we lived in, some things about human nature wouldn't change so easily; Dr. Tavade was proof enough of that. So she shaped herself to be forceful, to stand out in her career where she otherwise might not have had to. And though she readily admitted to feeling enriched by the experience, it came at a price, and she'd warned us of falling victim to what she referred to as systematic bullshit. At heart, she _was_ approachable, an ideal mentor - but she didn't let any of us get away with a single misstep, either.

Therefore, more than one demanding shift under her charge had left the interns shaken, and this time, Meg and I had received the brunt of the tough love.

But before either of us could continue our efforts to vent our frustrations and soothe the other's wounded pride, as we approached the main door of our apartment building, I recognized a friend I had met when I lived in student housing the year before. Ronnie was in the graduating year below me, but we had lived on the same floor, and often found ourselves sharing our extra food, or our old lecture notes, or whatever else was needed when budgets were nonexistent and student-life became too much to handle alone. I was surprised to see him now, but even more so when I noticed the kennel he held at his side, with Willow tucked inside of it.

Seeing the cat just when I did, Meg squealed excitedly and ran the rest of the way to the stoop, crouching down to the cat's level and saying, "Look at this! Someone's brought me a new fur baby," then, looking up at Ronnie, said amicably, "Hi, I'm Meg."

"Hi, Meg," he responded, then to me, "Christine, Willow has a problem."

My heart sank when he said that - all I could assume from that statement initially was that she had some kind of health issue. But Ronnie quickly explained the truth, relieving at least some of my confusion. Apparently, Willow's owner had turned out to be an elderly man that lived in the same neighborhood where the student housing building was located. He'd been aware that we all cared about his little tortoiseshell cat, and thus didn't think much about letting her outdoors to visit with the students. But then the man had passed away suddenly, and what family he had wasn't willing to take Willow in themselves. One thing led to another, and several of the students that were privy to the situation immediately stepped in to permanently rehome the cat, but so far had come up empty.

So, enter Ronnie toting the cat in question, having heard through the grapevine that I'd recently moved somewhere that supposedly allowed pets. Fortunately for all involved, that piece of information was true; and anyway, I refused to allow Willow to become homeless, or worse.

Sighing, I turned back to Meg, trying to keep my voice hopeful without actually begging, "How serious were you about making her your fur baby? I know it's really short notice, but - "

" - But nothing. She's ours now, it's no problem."

Ronnie and I shared a relieved glance as he passed the kennel over to me, and shortly after he had said his thank yous and left, Meg and I went out to get the cat the supplies that she needed, and had her settled in quickly. We come to would laugh about the whole thing later, but that day, we were simply happy to have some kind of distraction from the stresses of our work.

Otherwise, life continued on as normal beyond that point, even though normal didn't necessarily mean easy. But regardless, once the summer had ended and we as interns had steadily grown more confident as young doctors, we seemed to experience fewer days that made us seriously question the decision to go into medicine in the first place. Thank God for small blessings. Then, in early September, one of the seniored nurses in the ER unexpectedly had to resign, and while we were sad to see him go, many of us were also nervous about who might come to replace him. The dynamics between nurses and doctors varied by department, but in general, oncology and emergency aimed to work well together, simply for the fact that we interacted so often. But thankfully, our nervousness proved to be short-lived. After a few weeks of recruitment on the hospital administration's part, a woman named Samantha Novak filled the position, and she quickly proved herself to be more than adept at her job and as a coworker.

In particular, Meg and I enjoyed talking to her when our time allowed it, and the three of us quickly developed a friendship from there. Samantha was close to our age, the single mother of a young son named Xander, and I very strongly suspected that, as a result of balancing work and motherhood, she felt more exhaustion than she'd ever let on; yet at the same time, it also seemed clear to the majority of us trudging through our internships that Samantha's instinct to nurture extended well beyond her own household. More than once, if I or any of the other interns was sent down to the ER while she was on shift, she would always pull us aside once our duties were seen to and ask how we were feeling, or if we needed anything, or simply just to check in. Often, we would talk for a time, and by the end as a sign of dismissal, she would laugh and pat my arm as she walked away, and in turn I'd go in the opposite direction to leave as well, usually needing to return to oncology and prepare for my rounds. Afterward, I'd always reflect on those experiences at the hospital, and inevitably feel satisfied with the career path that I'd chosen - I couldn't imagine doing anything else, nor working with anyone else.

At home, whenever we shared a graveyard shift, or if he'd just gotten off a demanding overnighter of his own, Erik and I developed the routine of going straight back to my apartment to sleep, in lieu of driving all the way out to Schaumburg. By the time Erik had become a regular fixture, Meg hadn't minded the extra person sharing our living space, just as I hadn't minded the occasional presence of her newest boyfriend; and anyway, Erik and Meg were indifferent toward each other more often than not, though never unfriendly, tending instead to pass one another in the living room with a quick greeting before they parted again. Coexisting under the same roof, therefore, was generally simple for us to achieve all around.

When it was possible on the occasions that Erik did stay with me, he and I would make my bedroom as dark as we could, then immediately fall into bed and sleep long into the rest of the morning, attempting upon waking to spend the first hours of our day together, to make love, or go out somewhere for coffee, whatever we wanted to do. Soon enough, our passing the time in that manner felt as natural as anything else that happened during the span of our relationship. Steadily growing stronger as a couple, the trajectory that we'd set out upon became that much clearer, and I truly felt that I had no reason to doubt its permanence. I never did. We lived well carrying on as we had - had long ago fallen irrevocably in love, and we were incredibly grateful for that. There didn't seem to be anything left to face that we hadn't already overcome. I adored Erik and everything that we'd built; from the first day we met, our pairing seemed to have been inevitable, even in spite of how long it had taken us to grow brave enough to take that final leap. More than once I'd found myself pausing just to realize the magnitude of that truth. Honestly, the quality of life we shared almost felt too good to last forever.

Though, when considering that, I really shouldn't have been surprised at all when it came to an abrupt and devastating halt.

~~oOo~~

Meg insistently ushered me through the narrow aisles of the CVS furthest from our apartment; but moreover, she did so with far more bravery than I could find for myself. I was grateful for her company, but any gratitude I felt then was quickly overshadowed by my fear. She didn't exactly have to _force_ me to be there, but I really hadn't made this trip easy on us, either. Instead, during the time leading up to that day, I'd made one stupid excuse after another to put the excursion off indefinitely, until she finally decided that enough was enough, and took the decision out of my hands entirely. And through our almost absurdly roundabout trek around the store - taking that longer route to mostly serve as a means for me to buy time and to calm myself down - I seriously envied her for the ability to maintain such level-headedness. I clearly hadn't mastered the art. But then, she wasn't the one of us that had to find a drugstore, instead of enjoying a sorely-needed day off from work - instead, _I_ had recently found myself in the sudden position to need a home pregnancy test.

Feeling hypnotized throughout the entire transaction, I _did_ go through with making the purchase eventually. Actually taking the test, though, was another matter, and one that I still hadn't fully prepared for, despite how much time I had already dedicated to dwelling on these circumstances. But at any rate, I couldn't take the test immediately. In spite of what I suspected - and with the several points of evidence all leading to the same conclusion, I sincerely doubted that I was wrong - I had to talk to Erik about this first, had to tell him what was potentially happening. For better or worse, he had the right to know, and he deserved to see the proof for himself.

Early the next morning, I had gotten a short message from him confirming that he was still coming over. I'd made sure to invite him the night before, when he stopped by to see me on his way to the hospital - and to my immense relief, he hadn't seemed to notice then that anything was off about me, that I was keeping something from him. Where he was perceptive, I was that much more determined to time the actual reveal of this news just right, afraid that failing to do so would only cause further problems between us. We had enough to handle as it stood.

Distracted by those thoughts, I jumped slightly from my chair when Erik knocked at the front door, even though I'd obviously been expecting him. But I recovered quickly, and the first thing I noted upon letting him inside the apartment was how tired he looked standing there before me; he had gotten off work less than an hour before that pint, and was undoubtedly exhausted from being on-call for so long throughout previous night. By my understanding, the shift had been exceedingly chaotic for everyone involved; and for a moment, I almost thought better of having this conversation with him now, distantly wondering if he would even be able to properly comprehend everything that I needed to say. But I also knew that if I stalled for any reason, then I would lose my nerve to speak altogether - whether or not I felt confident, and whether or not he needed me to repeat myself, I couldn't put the this encounter off forever.

"Are you alright?" he asked, ignorant of my stress and kissing me as I led him to sit with me at the dining room table.

"I'm fine. But I wanted to talk to you."

Resting his head in one hand against the table, he said in a weary voice, "Sure. What's going on?"

Prepared to be straightforward about this with him from the start, I took a deep breath, calling forth as much bravery within myself as I could find in those moments - no small feat, all things considered. But before I could actually begin to speak, a strong wave of nausea overtook me - my newest symptom over the last few days, and one that I was already _well_ beyond fed up with. Jumping up and away from the table so quickly that I almost knocked my chair over, I all but sprinted to the bathroom, and I had just barely made it in time to heave the meager contents of my stomach into the toilet. To my humiliation, Erik followed me - likely without even stopping to think twice about it, clearly concerned by my getting sick out of nowhere, at least as far as he knew. His hands were cool against my flushed skin as he gently swept my hair away from my face, kneeling beside me as he did so - but the momentary relief that I felt from his touch had done absolutely nothing to help the overall situation. I could have cried then and there.

"Sorry," I said miserably after several more moments of sickness, shaking my head and feeling thoroughly pathetic then before I continued, "You should go, I don't want you to see this."

"If you'd prefer that, then I will. But I don't mind staying, either. It's up to you."

Resigned to allow the gesture, I smiled weakly before feeling the nausea rising again, and I immediately turned away and allowed it to run its course. Erik sat beside me all the while, keeping my hair out of the way and rubbing gentle circles on my back, occasionally speaking comforting words to me as he did so; I felt terrible that he had to expend that much effort for my sake when he was so tired, but there was nothing I could do about that now. When the worst of the morning sickness seemed to have passed, I leaned back carefully and asked him to hand me the mouthwash off of the counter.

But I didn't realize my mistake until it was too late. In the next instant, as soon as he turned around to do as I asked, he saw the unopened pregnancy test. Shock filled his eyes then as he quickly pulled the box off the countertop - shock, and then a question that I didn't give him the chance to voice.

"That's why I asked you to come over," I explained softly.

"Have you taken one already? Are you - "

" - I don't know yet," I interrupted, the words coming in an unsteady haste, "I was going to take this one today. But I wanted to talk to you about it first."

He nodded, seemingly attempting to calm himself down as much as I was. Without speaking any further, instead we both stood facing one another again - until, almost abruptly, I took the box from his hands. He'd barely had a grip on it. With a significant look as a means of conveying that I needed him to leave, I quickly ushered him from the bathroom; understanding why I needed him out, he complied easily enough, and once more I was left alone. Everything had unraveled so fast, I needed a moment to collect my thoughts before doing anything else.

Careful to ensure that I'd followed the instructions on the box and had done everything correctly, I finally took the test and brought it back into the dining room with me, setting a timer on my phone as I walked. I found Erik sitting there waiting for me, elbows now resting on the table and his hands clasped tightly under his chin as he stared sightlessly ahead, appearing to be very much lost in thought. Unsurprised by his expression, I sat down next to him again wordlessly, pushing the pregnancy test away from both of us as I settled. For the moment, I couldn't bring myself to look at it while it brought us the results. Still, in spite of trying to ignore that piece of plastic, I absently wondered if the little pink lines that might change my life forever would appear all at once, or if they developed slowly. Rather than solid lines, I envisioned them to be more like an old Polaroid photo, the steady development of an entire image instead of two small shapes coming from nowhere. How strange that something that simple could also be so frightening all the same, so intriguing.

But...I didn't want to think about any of it longer than was absolutely necessary. I just wasn't ready - not yet. And so, with a nearly deafening silence overtaking the small room that we occupied, sitting close together, yet somehow so distant from the other, Erik and I waited.

My phone buzzed - I was startled by the sound before I realized that the timer was up.

Even so, initially I made no real effort to move, opting instead to catch Erik's eyes with mine in a silent plea. And in the next moment, much to my mingled dread and relief, he nodded and reached across the table to pick up the test on my behalf. He looked at it perhaps longer than was necessary, almost stared at it, likely taking that time both to compose himself and to study the test carefully - he did all of this in a matter of seconds, before he finally just closed his eyes tightly. That singular, abruptly made gesture told me all I that needed to know.

The pregnancy test was positive.

And he wasn't happy about this new development. Though, to be perfectly honest, I wasn't surprised by his lack of enthusiasm any more than I had been by any other points of his behavior that morning - God only knew he hadn't expected that our time together would unfold this way. For my part, I didn't know yet exactly _how_ I felt about this - excitement, anticipation, fear, _everything_ flitted through my mind then, only to tangle and ultimately turn indecipherable. For the moment that followed, I only felt numb, lost in a powerful sense of disbelief as I began to regain control over my emotions, to attempt to wrap my mind around a million more questions and possibilities that resulted in the attempt.

Instead, before I could completely consider what I was saying, I said tearfully, "I - I'm...I didn't do this on purpose."

When he finally met my eyes, I saw genuine confusion among the remorse there, "I didn't think you had," he said, then took my hand and looked away as he added, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I shook my head, able to stop crying before I lost too much more control over my emotions. We had to be rational, that was certain, and so I asked, "What should we do?"

"What do you _want_ to do?" he asked hesitantly, "Have you thought about it?"

"I don't...I don't think I can have an abortion. That's all I know for sure. I don't want one."

He said nothing directly to that at all, nor could I determine his exact reaction before he seemed to force control over his features, saying in a tight voice, "You're still in your internship, Christine. Can you imagine how hard it will be to go through that while you're pregnant?"

"I won't be the first woman to get pregnant during her internship. Besides, if anyone will advocate for me, it'll be Dr. Tavade," then I sighed, "We don't have to make any decisions now," I said softly, hoping that my doing so would serve as some kind of reassurance for him.

Yet he only looked at me, his bright eyes still so impossibly regretful. And seeing that, I felt a powerful sense of dread as he stood up and murmured uneasily, "I should go home."

"Erik - "

" - I'll call you tonight. I love you," he said, leaning in quickly, kissing me hard on the mouth - as if offering an apology in that moment, an apology for leaving, for his silence. The significance of the gesture and his choice of words wasn't lost on me then at all - Erik never acted without purpose, and my heart sank with the unspoken gravity of what he'd just done.

But as determinedly as I'd attempted to keep my composure in that instant, in the end my effort was all for nothing. I didn't realize that I was crying until he was already out the door.


	26. Begging You to Stay

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back! Thank you to everyone that's checking this story out, reading, reviewing, and sticking around! For this chapter, I need to make a few notes. To begin, this part of the story is based **heavily** on the ER episodes "21 Guns" and "Bloodline," and has many direct references to the show, although I did try to bring in as many of my own ideas as possible. But credit where credit is due, because ER is my absolute favorite show, and Michael Crichton is certainly one of my favorite authors, so all the love goes there ;D Now, on a very serious note, which I will delve further into for Chapter 20's A/N, but please be aware that there will be violence at the end of this chapter. I don't want to say anything else here for the sake of spoilers, but please be aware of that from here on out. Finally, the chapter's title comes from lyrics to the song "Hopeless" by Screaming Females. Please let me know what you think, and enjoy! _

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Chapter 19 - Begging You to Stay

Erik

The early-morning sun had risen high enough over the horizon by then that its light seemed to reflect off _every_ window of the buildings on either side of the street, rendering my hasty commute back to Schaumburg that much more uncomfortable. The sun's glare, the dense traffic, absolutely everything about that drive had grated at my nerves. Still, I had to admit to myself that I _did_ deserve this annoyance, and then some. Leaving Christine's apartment as abruptly as I had - leaving her so obviously upset - was a mistake. I knew that even as it was happening, yet I did nothing to stop myself from stepping away even so. I gave her no reasonable explanation, no justification for my actions, no promise of moving forward together or coming to any form of understanding. Nothing. I just gave her my goodbye and walked out on her, my mind reeling all the while, absently wondering in the next instant if I'd ever return. I had to admit I wasn't sure then if I could - it was tempting to just run.

Everything had irrevocably changed between us in a matter of moments. And in the wake of that sudden change, I couldn't find it in myself to comprehend exactly why this was happening. Logically, I could understand that we had somehow made a mistake, that we'd been careless at one point or another in the recent weeks, and that carelessness had resulted in an unexpected pregnancy - an entirely unwanted development on my part. But still, knowing what led us to these circumstances and actually accepting the consequences were two drastically different things. Acceptance wasn't going to come to me easily, if it did at all. If I was being perfectly honest, it was more than likely never going to happen. I didn't want this, nor had I ever. We'd been doing so well; it didn't make sense to lose it all so abruptly.

But I didn't want to be a father - at that point, there was absolutely no question in my mind of _that_ fact. I wasn't ready, and anyway, I had no idea how to take on that role even if I _had_ been ready. Because when I really thought about it all - when I at least tried to calm myself down and approach the situation rationally - I realized that I didn't have the slightest idea how to belong to a family. I didn't even know where to start. I entered into foster care before I was ten years old; after Marie's unexpected death, my mother lost control of herself entirely, what little control could be found in her to begin with, at any rate. She just didn't seem to know any other way to function for very long beyond the parameters of her own chaos. Instead, she always submitted to the draw toward extremes that only her oldest friend had been able to keep in check. And Marie volunteered to take care of me in the process.

Yet objectively tragic though the last years of my mother's life had been, in turn it really wasn't surprising that losing that sole anchor to stability brought her down, nor was it surprising that she abandoned me as a result. Though whether that act was done out of mercy or panic or resignation wasn't clear. It never would be; I had long since lost the opportunity to find out for myself. In the end, her motivations didn't matter anyway. She was found dead less than a month after I'd last seen her, and from there, I was the state's problem. Once my mother was gone, I ended up in foster care and group homes and every other sort of temporary guardianship, never knowing about my father's rejection or the potential for my grandfather to take me in, never remaining in one place consistently - not until I was fed up enough to finally emancipate myself, but the damage was done by then. Constant lack of establishment and reliability with others was all I knew for years. I could barely remember my own family - could barely even conceptualize belonging to it beyond the formality of names and genetics - and the fragment of knowledge that I had managed to maintain over the course of my life wasn't positive.

Christine knew as much, but regardless of how much I wanted to be mad at her then for seeming to forget my stance on families in general, I still wouldn't fault her for making the choice to keep the baby. I couldn't. Nevermind how I felt, I plainly saw that she already loved that child - whether she realized it or not, the second she saw the results of that test, she had fallen in love. And anyway, we'd never even made a concrete decision on that possible aspect of our future. Beyond one fairly ambiguous conversation early on, we'd never had a real reason to. That, it seemed, had been a significant mistake. We'd blinded ourselves to the potential of getting off course, so much so that when that inevitably happened, it was a difficult blow for us both.

So _how_ _the_ _fuck_ could we be expected to build a family now? For my part, I was certain that I couldn't do so from nothing; I _had_ nothing, and therefore couldn't contribute to this. It would be irresponsible, and the attempt would ruin us. But regardless of how much I had tried to justify it, the fact that I'd essentially abandoned Christine in the wake of what we'd learned that morning - that I had outright rejected my own child in the process - was absolutely unforgivable.

By the time I made it home, I was well past feeling anxious, so lost to my confusion and guilt that I had to almost forcefully remember to make the effort to level myself out again. Even so, that consuming guilt stubbornly remained at the forefront of my thoughts for the better part of the rest of that day, and continued to bother me relentlessly in the days that followed Christine's announcement. Nothing I did or said seemed to assuage that for me, nor was I even able to comfort her in turn. I'd called her the same night she took the pregnancy test as I'd promised, but nothing substantial really came out of that brief and uneasy conversation - nothing remotely promising for either of us, if I was being honest. Still, just hoping to buy myself some time by then, I had made some half-hearted excuses to keep from seeing her again in the immediate future - otherwise avoiding the subject of the baby or anything even distantly related to it. It was wrong, but I wasn't yet willing to move forward in that regard.

 _Pathetic._

When all was said and done, I was a coward. I loved Christine more than I could say, but just the same I knew that I wasn't ready to face the very real consequences of that love. I wasn't being fair to her, to our baby, and I damn well knew that - but I could hardly bring myself to look ahead with any sense of positivity or bravery, either. And instead of acting like a fucking adult and righting every last one of my wrongs, I just interpreted that staggering act of cowardice as further evidence against my potential competence as a parent. Christine would grow to hate me for it, if she didn't already - but honestly, I believed that I wanted her to hate me, was giving her every reason to hate me and then some. Over the following days, a part of me began to wonder if I had just been looking for an excuse to sever this bond, always wondering if what we'd shared over the course of our relationship had been a fluke, a stroke of good fortune with an imminent expiration date. She'd been by my side for a long time now, supporting me and cheering me on as I tried not to break, putting the pieces back together after every time we'd fallen out.

And _this_ was how I repaid her.

I left her side, and I kept her in silence, all but ignoring her just as I had before. If _she_ didn't hate me for that, then I certainly hated myself enough for the both of us.

~~oOo~~

After a week of my near-complete barring of contact from Christine, and only limited contact with anyone else that I was absolutely obligated to speak to, I'd finally gotten to the point that I couldn't keep any of what was going on to myself. Doing so much longer would only serve to invite more harm, and I couldn't let that happen - even being a year out of therapy, I knew better than that. And so, rather than taking the risk of throwing myself into another depression, I chose one of the last mornings of my days off that week to steel myself in order to reach out to Nadir, informing him on my way over to his house of my coming presence and that I had news. He knew me well enough to understand that this didn't necessarily mean _good_ news, but still accepted my inviting myself over graciously even so. When I arrived, Sahra was just pulling her own car out of the driveway, quickly glancing at me as she prepared to drive off. She offered me a wave, a familiar and comfortable gesture, prompting Zach to do the same, though with more excitement, from the backseat. I returned their greeting as nonchalantly as I could - I wanted to believe that any showing I gave of outward calmness could only be helpful by that point.

Once they'd gone and I'd taken Sahra's place in the driveway, Nadir met me at the front door, wordlessly moving to let me inside before I'd even reached the steps, his greeting far less amicable than his wife's. But I wasn't offended by his demeanor - rather, I sincerely appreciated his straightforwardness then. Anticipating a long discussion, he settled us down in the relative seclusion of the deck overlooking his backyard almost immediately upon my arrival. He didn't say so outright, but he seemed to determine that surrounding us both with the sharpness of the early autumn air would keep me calm, would give me something to focus on. He was mistaken with that idea, of course - nothing he did for me could achieve that ideal end. I couldn't relax. But I understood the gesture, and once again I was grateful for the consideration, saying so rather succinctly before we sat down, ultimately lapsing into a tense silence.

Finally, he broke it, "What happened?"

I leaned forward in my seat, clasping my hands in front of me and unable to make eye-contact as I responded, "Christine's pregnant."

"Oh...wow," he murmured, and when I chanced a look at him, he made no effort to hide his shock as he continued, "I guess it's safe to say this wasn't planned."

"No, it wasn't."

"So what're you two going to do now?"

"I don't know...She wants to keep it."

He sighed, a defeated tone painting his voice as he concluded, "And you don't."

I shook my head, "I'm not ready to be a father," I said slowly, yet realizing even as I spoke the words that my excuse was weak and incomplete.

Unsurprisingly, he scoffed, "Do you think she's ready to raise that baby alone?"

"I think she's capable of it."

"Go back to your girlfriend, Erik," he advised wearily, as if his having to convince me to actually follow the advice was exhausting to him. Forcing me to look at him directly in the next instant, he continued, "Seriously, you need to get down on your knees, beg her to forgive you for your supremely idiotic reaction, and raise your child."

"You say that like it's easy."

He rolled his eyes, "It's certainly a hell of a lot easier than you're making it. Honestly, I'm disappointed that we're even having this conversation right now," he said, then added pointedly, " _You_ of all people should understand why running out on your family is wrong."

Flinching at the sting of his words, I couldn't give him anything of value in return - not then. To say that I shared in his disappointment would be a strong understatement. But even so, the truth behind his sentiment just wasn't enough to sway me - for the moment, I was still very much caught in between one life-altering decision and another, aware of my selfishness all the while, aware of the irresponsibility of my reactions thus far. So much so that I unwaveringly felt too overwhelmed to foresee digging myself out of that ever-deepening pit of confusion on my own, yet just as stubbornly refusing to accept more help than I'd already sought. And so, instead of actively working through the crisis, I resolved myself to stay in the hell I'd created indefinitely.

~~oOo~~

I hadn't spoken to Christine in two or so weeks by now - rather, I was actively avoiding her, maintaining my stance of indecision and telling myself that I was simply buying that much more time to come to some sort of reasonable solution for us.

Yet I knew, however distantly, that the excuse was complete bullshit - in the end, I was only succeeding in continuing my shameful behavior and nothing more; there came a point that I had to admit to myself that no amount of time spent apart had yielded _any_ semblance of clarity. But even while I knew I was hurting her, it was still my intention to stay away if only for the sake of keeping relative peace between us. On that point, I was entirely sincere. And that method worked out well enough both in and out of the hospital, insomuch as it served my purposes for the immediate future - that was, until the day inevitably came that we happened to be assigned to work during the same shift, intermittently finding ourselves together in the ER throughout the day. I hadn't been expecting _that_ hitch; Christine almost always stayed in oncology, and I in surgery. In theory, and if I had my way, our work pattern _should_ have meant that we wouldn't see each other often within the hospital, if at all. Up until then, that was exactly the outcome.

However, that day almost every service was significantly understaffed - doctors were being sent in all directions throughout the building, to any and every department that required the extra assistance. As such, every elective surgery was cancelled on my floor, and myself and several of the other surgeons I worked with were sent downstairs to pick up the slack where the emergency department staff was struggling. It wasn't an ideal method of handling the issue, but not uncommon, either; and anyway, I didn't really have any say in the matter to begin with. I couldn't have chosen to stay out of the ER.

So, grudgingly, I settled into that department for the day as best as I could, knowing all the while that I'd more than likely be there until the end of my shift. From there, I stayed insanely busy throughout the first half of the day - because everything from multi-vehicle accidents, to assaults, to severe injuries demanded that every available individual working on the floor to split limited time between numerous critical patients. This occured all while we had to weed out the less-emergent cases, and hope that the people who could be better served at an urgent care would realize that they were wasting their time and ours, and just leave.

It was chaotic, and it was exhausting. And so, after a particularly difficult trauma had sapped me of my remaining patience and energy, and once the influx of new patients had leveled out, I immediately chose to hole myself up in one of the supply rooms, escaping the main floor with the excuse of looking for some piece of equipment or another. It didn't matter, and no one questioned me anyway; I just desperately needed the break, needed a moment to breathe and process one thought at a time, and I took the chance to do so the as soon as it appeared. Upon arrival, I'd assumed that I could have a few moments to myself, and for the most part, I'd gotten just that - until I saw Christine leaving one of the curtained exam areas, most likely brought down to the ER from oncology with her resident to admit a patent. Though, the specific reasons behind her presence then were the least of my concerns - I hated to acknowledge it, but I simply wasn't ready to talk to her yet. But we made eye-contact before I could turn away, and she approached almost immediately; and so, faced off with her stubbornness, I quickly determined that I needed to stay where I was and just let us speak in private. One way or another, we needed to have some semblance of a conversation, and I knew I'd lose my nerve if it didn't happen now.

Still, that didn't necessarily mean I was ready.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," I said flatly once she'd come in and closed the door behind her - doing so with more force than was required, I distantly noted. But even so, primarily as a courtesy to her, I moved to take off my surgical mask just the same. She had every reason to be angry with me then, and I knew how much it bothered her when she couldn't read my face beyond my eyes; I didn't want to add to that ire if doing so was avoidable.

Clearly unwilling to submit to my attempt at evading everything that was unsaid between us, she spoke evenly, "No, _you've_ got to stop avoiding me. I know you are."

"Fine, guilty. But...how are you?" I asked hesitantly, gesturing to her midsection.

"Do you care?" she snapped, but when I only continued to pointedly hold her gaze, she shrugged resignedly, her tone losing some of its sharpness, "I'm fine. The baby's fine...Just so you know, I saw my own doctor for a blood test to be sure."

I nodded, unsure in that moment exactly how to interpret my unspoken reaction to her news, and opting to ask instead, "Why are you down here?"

She shrugged, her tension clearly remaining, in turn reflecting strongly in the gesture, "My resident had to deal with something in radiology. She's fighting with them now, and she didn't want me in there for that. So I have some free time."

"Well, you've cornered me, so congratulations," I said defensively, instantly regretting the harshness of my voice - yet I somehow couldn't bring myself to take it back even so.

Unfortunately, my inability to process my emotions was only putting Christine that much more on edge, "Just knock it off, alright? We need to talk about this at some point."

I sighed, "What is there to talk about? You've made up your mind. You want your baby, and I don't blame you," I said, adding in a haste as she began to argue, "I _don't_. But I don't know if I should be involved, either."

Leaning against the doorframe and looking somewhere past me, she paused before she looked at me again and replied, "Well, you haven't really done a good job of telling me why. You haven't explained _anything_. At this point, you're pretty much just acting like we're two high school kids that got ourselves into trouble, and it's driving me insane."

"I'm not proud of any of this, Christine. Don't assume that I am, because that isn't what's happening here. But I have _no_ business raising this child."

"You didn't have any objections to _creating_ this child, though," she laughed humorlessly, recapturing my eyes in the next moment, her angered gaze effectively reigniting the shame I'd harbored since the beginning of this situation. I looked away, wrapping my arms defensively around my chest as I did. And for a time, I assumed that she meant to continue to share her position - but to my surprise, I heard her take a deep breath before asking softly, almost hesitantly, "Did you ever love me?"

The question was jarring, "How can you even ask me that?"

"How can you be _surprised_ that I'd ask, Erik?"

"I've loved you for a long time, Christine. And _I still do_ ," I said firmly, "But I _won't_ do this. I can't, and I think we both know that," I shrugged, shaking my head as I spoke again, "That alone should be enough reason for you to understand why I shouldn't be involved. I don't want to keep fighting with you about it. Your child is better off without me."

" _Our_ child. And no, it isn't better off," she argued, then continued, "We both know what growing up without a father is like."

"But I have no idea what I'm doing," I said, the words coming as an almost desperate plea, "And I don't exactly have the best example to pull from."

"Just say that you don't want our baby. Say you don't want _me_ ," she demanded, and when I maintained my silence, she pressed bitterly, "You're worse than your father, you know. Your grandfather gave _him_ a good life, and he still abandoned you. But _you_ know firsthand why it's wrong to walk out, and you're not doing a goddamn thing to stop it."

 _That_ hurt - but instead of acknowledging the truth behind her accusation, instead of realizing that her logic was completely sound, instead I allowed what little sense I had left to be overtaken by my temper. With a tight voice, I responded, "I'm just doing what I think is best."

"I'm afraid I have to respectfully disagree," she said, each word laced with sarcasm.

"Look, I'll pay for whatever you need me to - "

" - _Don't_. I'm not taking your money. I don't want to deal with any child support nonsense if it means I have to constantly be reminded that you bailed."

I sighed, choosing to ignore that last point, "What does this mean for us?"

"We can't stay together if you won't even accept your own child, Erik. What kind of relationship would that be?"

"So...what, is this the end?"

"It doesn't have to be the end," she whispered, " _That_ depends on you."

I shook my head, every part of me screaming to take back the words before they were even spoken, yet entirely unable to keep myself from continuing on, "I don't know what to do, Christine. I didn't want this to happen to us."

She rolled her eyes, her patience obviously spent, "I've been through this before, _I_ know what to do. You just won't listen to me. Again," she added pointedly, and I strongly suspected that she was referring to the first days of our relationship - to every time I'd attempted to act in her best interest, no matter how misguided my doing so turned out to be. But before I could completely understand why that comparison was so important to apply now, she completely sideswiped me by saying, "At least the last time, Raoul was willing to stick around."

And I couldn't stop myself from nearly yelling, "God _damn it_ , keep _him_ the hell out of this! I don't want to stay around at all if it means being compared to him."

Anger flared in her eyes when she said in return, "Fine. _Fine_ , Erik. Do what you have to. Throw this away, I don't care."

"That's not…" I began, closing my eyes tightly in an attempt to regain any shred of composure I might have still possessed. But in spite of that effort, I lost the proper words even before I could truly form them; as much as I'd tried, I couldn't handle her reaction - honestly, I just wanted to hide from her altogether and pretend that none of this was happening in the first place. This confrontation was continuing to bite at my temper, bringing up an anger within me that I knew damn well was entirely misplaced, but an anger that I couldn't stall regardless. The longer we stayed together, the more I felt myself fall away from good judgment. And so, I said almost spitefully, "I think you should go back upstairs."

" _No_ , I have to stay with my resident until she's done here - "

" - I don't _care_ , Christine. I don't want you here…" I ground out, then added, simply for the sake of returning the pain that I felt, "I don't want you."

She paused, disbelief mingling with rage in her eyes, then, "If you do this, you can't take it back," she said, steadily, even imploringly holding my gaze, "I won't _let_ _you_ take it back."

And in spite of myself, I returned the implied challenge, "Then don't."

I'd only just finished speaking those damning words when she glared back at me, her next words sharpened significantly by my own lapse in patience. Maintaining eye-contact - and noticeably near tears - she said in a broken voice, "You know what? That works out _just_ _fine_ for me. I _sincerely_ don't care if I never see you again."

With that scathing comment, she stormed from the room, roughly shouldering her way past me as she left and slammed the small room's door behind her. The sound of it was almost deafening, somehow echoing even in the limited space that I now occupied alone. Closing my eyes tightly in yet another last-ditch effort to regain my composure, I stood almost completely still in the wake of the argument, yet all the while internally collapsing beneath the weight of what I'd just let happen - what I'd done to us. For the moment, I could barely comprehend what as-yet unseen ramifications would come from the decision to say what I had, to allow that terribly approached conversation possibly be the end of us. It was painful to consider, and quite frankly, I didn't want to believe any of it had happened at all. Had we actually just broken up? If it was true, if we had, then that was absolutely my fault, and that idea made me sick. I had no one to blame but myself, and it stung more than I thought it would to acknowledge why.

Reeling, I remained where I was for an immeasurable time, trying desperately to focus on anything else beyond this instant. Because as badly as I wanted to flee into my own private hell and stay there for good, I had to go back to work. But after I'd replaced my surgical mask and left the supply-room, it turned out that I was so caught up in my own melodrama that I had almost missed Nadir calling me, trying to get my attention as I unthinkingly almost passed him.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

My response was a distantly murmured, "Don't worry about it."

"I saw Christine down here - "

" - I know. I just talked to her."

He sighed, giving me a knowing look as he asked, "That's the problem?"

"Just leave it alone," I said, once again unable to keep the pleading tone out of my voice, barely concealing my discomfort as I asked, "Is that what you wanted?"

"No. I need you to go over to triage and see why intake is backed up."

"Look, I don't really - "

" - Erik, _please_ , I need the help, alright?" he asked impatiently, but clearly not intending to give me the option of turning down the request, either - his nerves were likely still set on edge by the difficult shift. A spiteful part of me was tempted to argue derisively in favor of my own recent upset, but I thought better of that pettiness as soon as it appeared. I knew I wouldn't get anywhere with him if I kept setting him off; it was far easier to do as I was told.

"Who am I yelling at?" I asked resignedly before I turned to leave.

"One of the residents from internal medicine," he responded, but before he could explain further, his pager went off. Seemingly frustrated by whatever it was that he saw on the device's screen, he said as he left in a hurry, "Just take care of it."

As it turned out, I was somewhat familiar with the doctor that had been left in charge of triaging emergency room patients, and I knew him well enough to know that he was generally a competent physician, and that he knew how to diagnose and treat a variety of problems fairly well on his own; his status as a resident ensured that much. And so, it was somewhat of a surprise when I saw his name on the whiteboard at the admit-desk and related him to the delay that was taking place at the moment. It was out of character, and in turn I was more than a little annoyed that he'd chosen one of our worst days to have problems doing this job efficiently. We didn't have the time, nor the resources to fuck around, and I intended to tell him just that - though whether or not I censored myself while doing so depended entirely on his attitude toward me. While I couldn't say how long he'd been undertaking his task by the time I'd needed to intervene, it was clear upon arrival that he had been triaging long enough at the very least to throw the pace of the patient intake procedure off significantly.

But before I could step in and attempt to sort out the issue, Dr. Moreno caught my attention from his place beside the resident, Dr. Howe. Turning to face him, and the potential patient that I'd only caught a glimpse of, Dr. Moreno said, "Wait there a minute, would you?"

Once we were more or less out of earshot from everyone waiting in triage, I began to speak, "If I'd known you were already here, I wouldn't have bothered to come," I said directly, distantly grateful to not have to worry about him misunderstanding that directness.

"Sorry, I wasn't asked to come here. I just noticed this one taking longer than the rest, so…" he trailed off, allowing me to fill in the details from there myself.

"Right. Then what's the problem?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, "Drug-seeker. We can't handle him today, but Howe's been trying to plead the guy's case."

"Trying to get him into rehab?"

"Exactly."

"Alright. Then, do you think we need to send him out?" I asked, and with the confirmation I'd been expecting, I replied, "So do I. Let me try to talk to Howe."

"Thanks."

I nodded in response, then, "Dr. Howe," I called from the doorway, projecting my voice loudly enough to startle him. Satisfied that I had gotten his attention effectively, I gestured for him to come out to the hallway with me. Once he'd excused himself from the drug-seeker and had done as he was directed, I continued, "Why did the chief of this department deem it necessary to make me come find out what you're doing wrong over here?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably before asking, "What do you mean?"

"I mean there's absolutely no reason for triage to take this long. This wasn't a problem earlier, so clearly _you're_ the problem," I said.

"Look," he began to argue as soon as I'd finished speaking, glancing between me and Moreno as he continued, "I've been trying to convince this guy to get clean, or let us help him. When Dr. Moreno got here, I wanted him to back me on this."

Unmoved, I had to fight to suppress a groan as I replied, "You couldn't have chosen a worse time to play the hero to him."

"But - "

" - No, listen to me this time," Dr. Moreno interrupted, his temper now clearly becoming as frayed as my own, "I appreciate that you want to help him. But frankly, we just aren't able to let that happen today. Send him out, he'll get his fix somewhere else."

Still, Dr. Howe protested, "That isn't right, though. He needs to be treated."

"He does," I agreed, then said, "But he's not emergent. End of story."

" _Please_ , just wait - "

"Stop arguing," Dr. Moreno said wearily, "Do as I say and get back to work."

Howe appeared for an instant as if he was about to continue arguing, an obvious flash of stubbornness shining in his eyes - but conceded with a stiff nod and walked away instead, and from there, I had assumed that he would just go on to do as he was told, manage the conclusion of this triage, and be done with it. And so, after a short parting exchange with Moreno, I was then finally able to take the chance to see to my own tasks as I'd initially intended; and while I wasn't looking forward to working the latter half of my shift at all, if nothing else, I was somewhat relieved to at least have some sort of distraction from the rest of my problems.

But before I could actually set out to do so, Raoul Chaney approached, grabbing my arm and preventing me from leaving as he demanded, "What did you do?"

Turning to face him, more pissed off at being handled as I was than surprised that it was happening to me in the first place, I snapped, "I'll need you to be more specific."

He rolled his eyes and released my arm, but otherwise offered no direct response to my sarcasm, answering instead, "Is there something going on with Christine? She was really upset when I saw her a little while ago."

"Did you ask _her_ if something was wrong?"

"She wouldn't tell me."

"Then assume that it's something she doesn't want you to know."

"So there _is_ a problem?" he prompted, much to my continued irritation.

"If there is, then it's between me and my girlfriend," I said firmly. But then, I immediately halted that thought, that specific title. Because Christine wasn't my actually girlfriend now, was she - she wasn't my lover, and if I was making considerations based on our most recent interaction, I assumed that she wasn't even my friend. As of that day, she was essentially just a stranger to me once again, no more my beloved companion now than the woman I'd first met was, that angry and far away person that fled from the result of my poor judgement; and just like that first day together, I had been the one to cause her that pain now, had directly brought on this conflict between us with my own irrationality. And as far as I knew, there was no way for us to reconcile again - certainly not like we had before.

Still, all of that was entirely between us - and so, without another word one way or another, I glared as I turned and left Chaney where he stood awkwardly in my sudden absence, trusting that he'd at least have the good sense to just get back to his own work and leave me the hell alone while he was at it. Regardless, if he'd meant to say more, I didn't hear a word of it as I walked away. Rather, I felt my anxiety steadily rising, and I knew that I needed to do something about it immediately. Even though I had work left to do, had intended to get back to it before that brief and awkward exchange, by the end of it I'd only wanted out of the emergency department altogether; I honestly didn't care if I was needed elsewhere, couldn't bring myself to be mindful of how busy we were that day. I just wanted to be alone before the day got any worse than it was.

Retreating to the ambulance bay, and for lack of any better solution, I quickly decided to choose a random wall to lean against and stay put for as long as I thought was necessary; and, thankfully, in a matter of moments, the growing chill in the air, closing my eyes, and once again crossing my arms tightly around my chest steadily brought me back down from the intensity of my warring emotions - enough so for me to start to feel, though marginally at first, that I was beginning to think more clearly. Separation from the sources of my stress was only a short-term solution - I knew that much well enough - but in the end it was as effective as I needed it to be.

Then, stopping a passing nurse as she tucked a pack of cigarettes back into her purse, I asked as casually as I could manage if I could bum one from her, feeling almost unreasonably relieved when she agreed and passed me her lighter along with the cigarette. I hadn't smoked in over a year by that point - nor had I really had any desire to - but I didn't want to take the time to decide whether or not I should pick up that habit again. I didn't care, for that matter. Rather, I took off my surgical mask again and stood near where I'd started, absently watching the nurse retreat, wondering idly if she was taking her lunch or if her shift was over for the day. And I just looked around me for a time, taking in what little of the sky I could see beyond the buildings surrounding the hospital. It should have been relatively calming, if such a thing were possible.

"Hey, can I get a light off that?" a voice pulled me away from my thoughts, and when I flinched and turned to see the source of the interruption, I recognized Jason Herrera, one of the EMTs that I'd seen often back when I still worked in the ER. Gesturing toward the cigarette in my hand, he spoke again, "Sorry, man, I didn't mean to scare you. But can I get a light?"

Nodding, I handed him the cigarette, and he lit his own with the cherry from mine. Giving it back to me, he offered a few words of thanks before moving to stand closer to his rig again, and once more the environment that made up the ambulance bay blended in with the backdrop of the city. Taking another drag of my cigarette and watching the smoke fade into the air when I slowly exhaled, I tried to focus only on those movements, worked to continue to settle myself down. But not for lack of trying, my mind always circled around to think about Christine, focusing on everything that I was doing wrong now. Grudgingly, I began to wonder if the problem was that I truly wasn't ready to take the step into fatherhood, or if I was just afraid of that step. Ultimately, I had to admit that fear _was_ a significant factor in my decision-making process, and I would be lying if I didn't admit that I wanted a vastly different outcome for my relationship with Christine.

Still, I didn't feel strong enough then to change that outcome, either.

I was lost in that thought when I heard yelling, followed by a sharp cracking sound that tore through the relative silence that preceded it, the next one ringing out almost immediately after the first. But although they were distinct, they seemed to come from nowhere initially, and for an instant I almost didn't believe that I'd heard anything at all - that was, until I looked over toward where Herrera now stood with open shock written on his features, and I knew that I'd probably mirrored the look of confusion that he wore. So, noting that, I knew all at once that we had heard the same thing then, that I hadn't simply imagined it from nowhere. But before I could think about it any further, another crack broke through, this one sounding decidedly more familiar to me - and familiar enough to momentarily throw me back in time, the resulting telltale pounding of my heart forcefully reminding me of the scenes that I'd long-since left in the past.

 _Jesus Christ…_

In that instant, I realized that we were hearing gunshots - somehow, there was now an active shooter in the ER. And Herrera and I both moved forward in the next moment, each of us seemingly doing so without thinking about what it was that we were actually approaching. For my part - and most likely for his as well - many years of training and instinct had completely taken over before any sense of self-preservation could compel me to think better of running headlong into this dangerous situation. Because the noise didn't stop, the sudden chaos rising just inside of the emergency department's doors only worsened within a matter of seconds.

Herrera ran ahead of me, and I soon lost track of him. Several people were racing to get out of the building by then, and while the majority of them passed me without incident, many of the others I saw were far less focused - to have any hope of helping them, I could only force them into the nearest room possible, demand that they keep quiet while they hid somewhere in the shadows. Then, working quickly and methodically, I continued moving forward, looking as I ran for the security guards, a police officer, _anyone_ that could be a source of aid then. But as I rounded the corner that would have taken me back to the emergency room's main floor, all at once, the gunman had appeared across from me, just yards away from me at most. I immediately recognized him as the drug-seeker that Dr. Moreno and I had decided should be sent elsewhere. My heart seized with that recognition - I knew that what he was doing now was done in retaliation. But before I had time to turn away, to escape what was about to happen, he looked straight at me and took aim.

 _Crack, crack!_

It all happened in the span of seconds, but even that little time brought with it substantial devastation in its wake, more so than I'd initially understood. The force of the bullets striking me immediately set me off balance - in the same instant that I was shot, I'd stumbled badly and pitched forward as a result, crying out and hitting the floor with a jarring impact. Then, starting to shake as I lay there absolutely stunned - as the drug-seeker fled out of the same door that I'd just come through - I shifted myself enough to see exactly what damage had been done, and slowly moved my hand to my chest, to the source of the pain that I was just beginning to feel. Only then did I finally comprehend the significance that accompanied every gesture I would make from then on; when I pulled my hand away from my body again, it was covered in blood. But although rationally - if not rather unconsciously under the circumstances - I had expected as much, it was still absolutely terrifying for me to see for myself. And in the next moment, even as I was aware of the continued rush of people around me, in my shock I could no longer move.

In spite of knowing that I had to keep myself awake, that doing so now was imperative, I felt myself go limp. And, entirely against my will, my vision swam - stealing the world away from me until everything went black.


	27. Death Whispered a Lullaby

**Author's Note** : _Welcome back, and I apologize for the events of the last chapter o_o I feel bad for hurting these characters...mostly. But I also love The Drama, so...Anyway, please note again that this and the previous chapter are based heavily on the ER episodes "21 Guns" and "Bloodline," so hella credit to the source material. Now, I do want to stop for a second and make a serious note, as I said last chapter that some things would be explained in this A/N - so I will start with saying that, in light of current events surrounding gun violence in the US, please know that I do not take this subject lightly at all, as it is something that has resulted in countless tragedies, especially in recent months/years. I say this with the utmost respect to the victims of gun violence and their families, of which I won't list simply because the list is too shamefully long. But I wanted to state this specifically, as I don't want the previous or coming chapters to be perceived to have been written in bad taste. That was not my intention at all; when this story was written last year, there had been no recent mass shootings, and I did not anticipate how much that would change in the time it's taken me to post these updates. I hope I'm explaining this well enough, but if anyone has questions or concerns, please feel free to send me a message here or on Tumblr. Finally, the title for this chapter comes from the Opeth song of the same name. Please let me know what you think, and stay safe, y'all._

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Chapter 20 - Death Whispered a Lullaby

Erik

Rendered nearly frozen where I lay, collapsed onto my side on the hard floor, my only real movement otherwise came by taking rapid and shallow breaths; I struggled to take in enough air with every harsh inhalation. But in what felt like the next moment, I found myself waveringly returning to the world. Initially, I was disoriented, aware of absolute shock and little more, aware of an overwhelming sense of unreality that swept up everything else. Nothing seemed real to me - nothing felt solid, my cognizance giving way instead to an unsettling numbness, a loud and insistent ringing in my ears. That alone was my entire existence for an immeasurable time - just that noise and disconnectedness from myself.

It was only when the near-deafening sound began to recede that I could distantly remember what brought it on to begin with. The chaos ruling the ER now came into mind in sharp focus, and from there, I could say with at least some measure of certainty that I hadn't been unconscious for very long. Unfortunately, though, I _was_ down long enough to lose a considerable amount of blood. Lying on the ground where I'd fallen, I felt it pooled beneath me, and that startling realization was enough for me to regain that much more consciousness for the time being. Jarred back into reality, when I finally, albeit slowly opened my eyes - once the blurriness before me faded away enough for me to reestablish my bearings - I was able to see as well as I could in order to competently assess the damage to my body. But I immediately wished I hadn't known the significance of what I saw - blood from the gunshot wounds had spread out to my side, staining the white floor tiles a shining and deep and disturbing red. Unnerved by the sight, I quickly closed my eyes again, willing this nightmare to _just_ _end._

But even as I fought to regain a sense of composure, Christine's image flashed across my mind - I opened my eyes once more as my thoughts raced. How long had it been since we'd fought, since I demanded that she go back upstairs and stay there? I couldn't remember, the events of the day colliding and blurring together as quickly as I'd tried to reconnect the pieces. Though, the exact amount of time that had passed since we had last seen each other didn't necessarily matter - if in fact she hadn't listened to me at all, then she could very well be among the injured as I was. And so, convincing myself to tamp down vivid illusions of a worst-case scenario, I tried to get up, tried to get away from this place. Yet as soon as I made the attempt - and regardless of how carefully I set out, regardless of my determination - when I started to move again, the pain from my injuries went through me forcefully. The resulting weakness stalled any further progress I could've made toward pulling myself upright on my own.

More people were coming out of hiding by then, the doctors and nurses on duty now charged with controlling this violent scene, having to do so even as they were still attempting to process their own shock. I understood that effort well enough.

"Dr. Riley!"

Gradually losing consciousness again, I forced myself out of that semi-coherence as much as possible when I recognized Samantha's voice. Christine knew her better than I did, but I'd worked with her in the ER several times, and I'd grown to respect her. Slowly, I turned my head in time to see her running toward me - she knelt beside me as she determined the next steps that she needed to take, now that the imminent danger of gunfire was gone. I knew she was trying to maintain even the smallest level of detached professionalism with me then - and I knew how difficult that feat was for her under the circumstances of treating a colleague. I'd been through it in the Army so many times...But I trusted her to be able to do so now; we'd worked together often enough that I could. Yet even so, it didn't escape my notice how badly she was shaking in spite of herself. She called for someone over her shoulder, though I missed nearly every word she'd spoken.

Likely a result of my exertion, the room spun out of control again, my vision growing dark at the edges - the prospect of blacking out again was scaring me badly, even as I was losing my grip on awareness. But I wanted to fight it, I _had_ to. Going against Samantha's urgent directions to stay motionless where I was, I quickly made myself move anyway, rolling the rest of the way onto my back and causing a new wave of pain to follow.

I realized my mistake only when it was too late to prevent causing myself any further damage. With almost no warning, I felt blood rising in my throat, choking me in the next instant. Samantha turned my head to the side as I coughed roughly, blood pouring from my mouth as I did so, its trail hot and leaving behind a strong and distinct metallic taste. Coughing again in the wake of the first paroxysm - and startled to the point of tears by the strangled sound coming from me - I unwisely began to move again, afraid and agitated all the while. But Samantha eased me to lie back, holding me down carefully. And while I shook my head weakly in response, I was otherwise completely unable to speak or fight against her.

In the next moment, I just barely recognized Nadir's voice, realizing as he approached that he was seemingly calling out in an attempt to get my attention. But I still couldn't respond; rather, I just stayed unwillingly silent, my throat tight and my chest aching. Although I was incredibly relieved that he hadn't been hurt as well, beyond that I'd been unable to form a thought long enough to actually put it into words. Even so, he spoke to me directly, his tone succinct as he turned and delegated tasks to others, and simultaneously started to work on me; he wore the same shocked expression as everyone else as he moved. Dr. Moreno and another nurse that I didn't recognize had appeared at Nadir's rallying, and followed closely behind him. The next thing I knew, I was shifted onto a gurney, and the unfamiliar nurse had deftly fitted me with an oxygen mask, holding it in place as I was taken to the nearest trauma room.

From some dark corner of my mind, it unexpectedly occurred to me as I was being moved that I'd never been shot before that day. Throughout my life, I had sustained more than enough nearly debilitating injuries, had been shot _at_ countless times during my experience in combat. But never in all of that time had anyone successfully found their mark in me - yet in spite of that exceedingly good luck in the past, I'd been taken down just trying to get through a single, otherwise ordinary day at work. It seemed absurd to consider, yet I still couldn't decide if that turn of events was ironic, or simply one demented fucking cosmic joke at my expense.

Though it seemed like I'd been in there for an eternity by then, very little time had actually passed; yet all the while, I was distantly aware of my surroundings - of the nurse taking my right hand and preparing an IV site, of Samantha cutting bloodied clothes away from my body and draping me with a sheet. Still agitated and now beginning to shake badly, I turned my head away sharply when someone moved to suction the lingering blood from my mouth. I listened as Nadir and Dr. Moreno agreed upon the specifics of my treatment. Everyone - once settled - worked with a quick efficiency, yet always without rushing, adhering to the procedure we'd all learned and practiced every day. The only exception to the routine was that I was now the one on the receiving end of their precise movements this time - I wasn't a stranger to them. And it was all so odd, that helplessness and exposure proving to be beyond surreal. Unbidden, I realized that no one else had seen all of my tattoos before, nor the extensive scarring on my side - only Nadir had, and even that had been to a somewhat limited capacity. But no matter how vulnerable that much visibility made me feel, there was nothing I could do to prevent it then.

"...I told you to get his chart going. He's like _anyone_ else we treat here," Nadir was saying to the nurse sharply, his voice sounding far away even though he stood right beside me; but the head of the trauma room gurney was raised up at enough of an angle to promote airflow for me, consequently keeping me within reasonable range to still hear him speak, pronouncing each word clearly for the charting nurse, "Patient's name is Erik Riley, thirty-six years old, presenting today with multiple gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen - "

" - Just two," I interjected weakly, "He shot me twice, that's it."

And I was honestly surprised that he'd even heard me at all when he responded, "Leave that mask on, Erik. Just relax. You're the patient now, alright?" he said softly, before turning and continuing to the nurse, "No known drug allergies, call up to the blood bank for type-specific…"

His voice faded, but that didn't matter; any further comments I might have given in turn had quickly died as soon as Nadir began to examine the wounds more closely. I had a lower tolerance for pain than I cared to admit - I'd had the misfortune of learning _that_ about myself when I was going through burn treatments after being injured in Afghanistan. Though initially, I was at least doing well enough for myself now, all things considered. That was, until Nadir actually began to work - it was _then_ that I all but screamed in response to the contact, a strangled sound issuing from me as a result. I tensed and gestured sharply in an attempt to keep him away from me, nearly curling into myself to somehow guard from more pain. But that only proved to be a wasted effort; I felt the nurses hold me down immediately afterward, gently reminding me as they did so of the morphine they'd just given, but an irrational part of me doubted that - it honestly felt like the drug had barely touched me at all.

But, miserable and exhausted, I sincerely didn't want to bother paying much attention after that, opting instead to just close my eyes tightly and fight to calm myself down as much as possible. It was easy enough to _tell_ myself to relax - that didn't mean that I could do so in reality as effectively as I wanted to. I'd been a patient before, and though I wasn't thrilled by my present circumstances, that particular aspect of this situation wasn't necessarily my immediate concern - I trusted everyone present to do what they could for me. Rather, in those past instances, I'd had a fairly reasonable chance for survival. This time around, everything was different - the odds were stacked high against me.

The fact remained that there was a very real possibility that I might die, and for what? Because this department and the people in it had fallen victim to a goddamn ambush? I sure as hell wasn't willing to forfeit my life to what happened that day - thinking of Christine once more, I knew that much with absolute certainty. It had been a severe mistake to try and stay away from her again, to even think about walking out on her and the baby. They were my _family_ \- I wanted nothing more than to be with them.

This was a hell of a time to finally come to that conclusion.

For all I knew, I'd done so too late to make any difference - I had no right to treat her the way I had and then expect her to welcome me back beside her with open arms. And anyway, even if she did find it in herself to forgive me, I could still die here in the hospital. Christine would never know that I'd ever thought seriously about any of this, that I never truly wanted to cut all ties between us. I had panicked, I'd made a mistake. Though maybe it _was_ for the best if I didn't make it in the end - my death would give her the perfect out. She could go on with her life without me there to complicate it, could raise our baby without my cold abandonment hanging overhead.

Still...I didn't want that. As much as I tried to convince myself that what I was doing was out of mercy, the fact was that I didn't want her to be alone, didn't want my own child to grow up fatherless like I had. Whether that was because I'd run away, or because I succumbed to my injuries didn't matter - I needed to stay somehow, and for all our sakes. I realized all of that then, in the span of only an instant, and when it might have been too late to change the outcome. I had never felt more guilty than I did in those moments - our last conversation left Christine believing that I didn't want her, and I was solely to blame for that.

Samantha was cleaning blood off my hands and chest then, and I tried to focus on her movements instead of my own thoughts, catching a better sight of the extent of my injuries in the process. There were two entry wounds with no exit, as I'd suspected, but it was the bullet in my chest that caused the most concern - time was valuable, and I had very little to spare. Lying back once again, I groaned and closed my eyes, holding the oxygen mask tightly over my face.

But Nadir caught my attention again when he passed my side, and so I reached out to him with my free hand and asked, "Where's Christine?"

Glancing up from the chart he was reading, he looked away again as he responded distractedly, "I don't know. I haven't seen her since she was around earlier."

Up until then, I'd been afraid he would say that. I was so terrified by the lack of information that anyone had, hated not knowing where she was, if she was somewhere safe - but even so, I tried to keep my voice steady as I pressed, "Was she here when this happened?"

"I don't know," he repeated, then met my eyes steadily, "It's possible."

"Then find her."

"We will, when we can."

My heart sank at his words, even as I'd anticipated as much, knew rationally that his priority then was in trying to keep me alive. But I couldn't just let the issue lie. So, summoning strength I didn't have, I shook my head and insisted, "I need you to find her _now_."

"No, we need to get you stable before we focus on anything else," he reasoned.

But as he spoke, it was getting harder for me to breathe, harder to think clearly or calmly. Although whether that state of mind was a result of the blood-loss or the morphine, I couldn't say. Regardless, I was altered, my clouded thoughts only serving to make me that much more uneasy, bordering on irrationality that would only hinder effective treatment. I had to force myself to stop and seriously consider the very real possibility of having a panic attack then and there, because I knew that I couldn't allow that to happen - I couldn't afford to.

 _Calm down_ , I ordered myself, _Calm down. Focus_.

"Get Christine," I told Nadir again, now making a concentrated effort to keep my voice steady, yet still knowing all too well that time and communication was limited. I had to see my girlfriend, my lover, my best friend or well-deserved enemy - I honestly didn't care what the title of our relationship was anymore. It didn't matter. She'd certainly earned the right to take me however she chose, but _I needed her with me_ despite the rest.

"Erik - "

" - _Please_ ," I insisted, "I need to make sure she's safe."

"We'll page her, and we'll have her come as soon as she can," he offered at last, "Let's just worry about you in the meantime, alright?"

And I'd tried to respond, to grudgingly agree, but it had become almost impossible to breathe properly by then - I would inhale, only to have the air catch in my chest, choking me even further. Each time, I heard the wheeze with every uneasy breath, felt the panic rise in me again at that singularly constricting feeling - it was as if my lungs were being held in a vise.

Nadir knew the source before my mind could catch up to it, calling out, "I need a chest tube tray," then to me, "You're fine, we're taking care of you. Just stay calm."

"I've got it," Dr. Moreno said as he approached Nadir, then spoke to me directly, "You're bleeding into your chest, Erik. You have a collapsed lung."

Acknowledging his words with a tense nod, in the next moment I didn't even feel the scalpel cut into my left side as he worked - but I felt the immediate relief in my chest when the procedure began to do its work, taking a deep and rattling breath like a man drowning the first instant I was able to. The difficulty breathing, the overall pain was subsiding, though it was only marginally so. That lessening of discomfort didn't mean I wasn't still feeling everything to a degree. Short of complete sedation, it was simply impossible not to.

"You know what? I take it back..." I began as Nadir returned after Dr. Moreno finished with the chest tube. I laughed tremulously, almost frantically into the now-replaced oxygen mask, aware that I'd been speaking clipped sentences as I did so - I truly couldn't manage much more than that. When he looked at me in confusion, I moved the mask again enough to continue, "Everything I've ever said about wanting to die...I take it back. It was fucking _stupid_."

"Yeah, it was," he laughed softly, "But I'm sure it won't count against you now. I think God owes you one," then he added seriously, "I'm going to get you to surgery as soon as possible."

"How long until then?"

"They're trying to clear out enough ORs up there to handle this," he explained, gesturing vaguely toward the door that led to the rest of the emergency department, "Anyway, you're not stable enough to move yet. I need to intubate you before you go anywhere."

Shaking my head at his statement and trying to bite back the returning dread I felt then, I reached out to keep him from turning away from me, "Hold on, what about Christine?"

"Still waiting to hear back from her," Nadir responded patiently, "The hospital's on lockdown, Erik. If she gets the page, it might take her a bit to get past security. But I need to intubate you before - "

" - _No_. Not yet."

Now he sighed, correctly assuming that I wasn't going to relent, "I'm not _asking_ you - "

" - _Not yet_!" I snapped again as Samantha reappeared and readied the medications that would put me under. And when she moved to take up my IV, I fought back, fought against her and Nadir in their effort to get me to cooperate. I couldn't bring myself to stop the returning panic - completely disregarding my injuries and the chest tube in my side, I struggled against the hands around me attempting to hold me still, nearly begging by then, "Don't- _don't_! - "

" - Easy, settle down," Nadir said, his voice soft yet authoritative. In the same instant, Samantha took a step away from the bedside, from the IV in my right hand, seemingly offering distance from my perceived threat as a gesture of good faith. From there, Nadir continued to reason with me, "Listen, we _can't_ risk losing your airway. We don't have time to argue this."

Gasping now, I said weakly, "I just want to talk to her."

"Erik - "

" - Or...or change the dose, then," I attempted, indicating the syringe in Samantha's hand as I made that last desperate compromise to hold on to my consciousness somehow, "Knock me out, then intubate, then let me wake up again until I'm transferred."

But he shook his head, "You don't want to be awake for this."

"Nadir, you know as well as I do how this could turn out - "

" - She'll be here soon," he pressed.

" _Please_ ," I breathlessly pled my response, "We had a fight, we - "

" - Then you can make amends in recovery - "

" - But can you guarantee that nothing will happen to me before then?" I demanded, cutting him off even as my voice broke with the significance of the words, " _Can_ _you_?"

He sighed, holding my gaze with a stubbornness to match my own. But finally, after a clear flash of indecision - his choices seemingly warring to the point of pain - he assented, and quickly ordered the proper adjustment to the medication that would paralyze and sedate me. However, this wasn't truly a victory, if I really stopped to consider the overlying situation. Uneasily, cold and still shivering on the gurney, I stared at the ceiling while the drugs quickly took affect, pulling me away whether I wanted to fall into that artificial oblivion or not.

Before the world went dark again, I felt Nadir's hand on my forehead, his gesture reflecting the long years of our friendship. I wanted to take comfort in that now, in the fact that he was more than capable of helping me. But I also saw - for the first time since the moment he'd found me lying on the ground - the genuine terror in his eyes, in spite of the confidence with which he carried himself. I saw fear behind that professional facade, fear which I knew he was trying his hardest to hide for my sake. I'd never met a doctor that hadn't donned that expression - knowingly or otherwise - during the worst, most unsure moments of a patient's treatment. That distinct look was present even as he murmured his reassurances to me, and I shuddered as I knew just how precarious my situation was. I was afraid for myself, worried for my friend.

And I hated that I could do nothing then to reassure him in turn.

~~oOo~~

Christine

Dwelling on the aftermath of Erik's unwavering rejection and dismissal - on the fight that we'd just had and would likely not be resolving any time soon - was absolutely devastating to me. Every word we'd exchanged stayed with me from the moment we parted, and well beyond the time following the heated discussion. I truly hadn't wanted the conversation to unravel so badly for us, hadn't meant for it to end that way at all; but I couldn't bring myself to act or speak any more reasonably than he had, either. And I was furious at him as much as myself.

I'd snapped as hurtful of a statement as I could summon when I left Erik standing dejectedly in the supply room, hoping childishly as I stormed off that I'd hit my mark in him with those spiteful words. But I was still otherwise unable to _actually_ feel proud of what I'd just said. I'd most _certainly_ wanted to piss him off, to get back at him for what he'd done, but at the same time, we weren't doing ourselves any favors by engaging with each other this way. And yet the problem remained that I had absolutely no idea of how to move forward from this conflict - it wasn't just a disagreement between lovers, a rough patch in our relationship that only a bit of space would settle. What we were facing then was a significant difference of values that we'd foolishly neglected to preempt; there was no easy answer, as much as I wished there was, if only for the fact that a resolution would serve to bring us back together, in more ways than one.

Sighing in defeat as I retreated back to the main floor of the ER, I decided to ignore it all for the time being, opting instead to just seek out my resident again - I needed to focus on work and only work right now. If I was truly going to have to raise this baby alone, then I had to do everything I could to ensure that I could provide for the both of us on my own. There was no way I would be willing to receive what felt like a handout; no matter how sincere Erik had been in his offer, I determined shortly thereafter to refuse. Any anyway, the added financial responsibilities didn't feel nearly as daunting as the notion of single-parenthood. _That_ position wasn't one that I looked forward to, simply for the fact that the reason for this hypothetical status meant my child would be distanced from its father from the start, and that the circumstances to begin with had to involve an exceedingly painful breakup. But any rate, giving up on everything I'd accomplished in my career so far and feeling sorry for myself wasn't going to do any good - for me or for my baby. Rather, I had to be proactive, and I would need to inform my resident of this; I would need to seek her advice about what I should do to continue to ensure my success, but I was as confident as I could be that I could handle myself altogether.

Dr. Tavade was still speaking heatedly with the radiologist when I found her again - approaching her just moments after my falling out and trying to smother another bout of tears - but I was immediately instructed to go back upstairs. And although a part of me just wanted to defiantly stay put, if only for the sake of being spiteful in the wake of Erik's demand, this new opportunity to gain that much more actual distance from him was just fine by me. The less time that I needed to spend in the ER, the less chance I had to run into him again, then all the better.

Once I returned upstairs, and after a quick text message to Meg to inform her that I was on my way, she met me the moment I walked into the locker room. And it didn't take her long to understand exactly how upset I was upon my arrival, even as much as I'd continued trying to soldier on and hide my sadness. Though, even if I had been successful toward everyone else up until that point, Meg was especially intuitive as a rule, and she knew me well enough by then to be able to read my body language accurately; there was no way I could have hidden how I felt from her even if I'd wanted to. So, instead of trying to insist that all was well with me, I accepted her shoulder to cry on as I quickly explained what had just taken place with Erik.

"He's a bastard," Meg said confidently when I'd finished recounting the argument.

I sighed, moving away from her in favor of pacing the room. Crossing my arms, I said distractedly, "I'm not going to agree _or_ disagree right now. I want to stay mad at him, but you and I both know I can't just stop loving him, either."

Sitting on the couch in front of my path now, she smiled warmly and let me walk out my excess energy, asking gently, "What're you going to do now?"

"When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

She only nodded, then, "You haven't been on your shift long, have you?"

"No, why?"

"Just curious. Where's Dr. Tavade?"

"Dealing with radiology. She sent me back up here until she's done," I murmured, not quite making eye-contact as I stalled my progress and leaned against a row of lockers.

"Well, come with me for my rounds while you wait, alright? I could use the company."

Smiling faintly, I knew that was a damn lie - but I appreciated the effort, and took her up on the offer just the same. I had the time to spare, and I didn't want to spend that time alone with my thoughts. Not until I could find a way to set my heartache aside and move forward, at any rate. For a little while after leaving the intern locker room with Meg, I'd been pleasantly distracted by our shared task of checking in on the patients that had been assigned to her. It was a daily task that I sincerely enjoyed seeing to, as well as often having the opportunity to work with a team. Especially with Meg included, doing so was incredibly helpful - as a cohort in general, we were all steadily learning to work efficiently with each other, rather than simply alongside one another, and that growing sense of teamwork was starting to show as the internship progressed. Now, our tasks were becoming that much more manageable, while simultaneously the difficult aspects of the specialty became less daunting.

But that sense of ease evaporated in each and every one of us when alarms began to blare overhead. Initially, after those first shocked shrieks of surprise at the sudden and unexpected sound, we'd all assumed that it was the result of a routine drill - we assumed that the hospital administration was just testing out the fire alarms or redeveloping the evacuation procedure. Yet each assumption had proved only to be wishful thinking. In reality, what we'd hoped was happening didn't make sense; there had been no formal warnings beforehand as there would otherwise have been, no indication whatsoever that our afternoon would be so jarringly interrupted. None of us knew what to think when we were finally told that the hospital had been placed on a mandatory lockdown, that each and every department was to adhere to emergency procedure and remain where we were until further notice. No exceptions. By then, so many speculations were beginning to spread from room to room that the actual reason for this event was long-since lost to us, and for a time there was nothing we could do but wait.

Only some time later did the local news outlets pick up the actual story - according to the reporters on-screen, there had been a shooting in the emergency room of this hospital. There had been casualties, though none of the victims' names had been released yet...and very little further information was available then, only that they'd keep us up to date. And as the same story began to get repeated almost verbatim by every other news source we attempted to find, my only thought was that Erik had been downstairs when the shooting occurred, and I prayed that he would not be counted among those casualties. I had no way of knowing where exactly he was, if he was hurt, and the longer we went without updated news from our own hospital's sources, the deeper my terror ran. At one point, I'd snuck my phone out of my locker in order to send off several messages - some to Erik, to Nadir, to anyone I knew that was working in the ER that day. If nothing else, I just needed the reassurance that everyone there was alright. Until that confirmation happened, though, I knew that I wouldn't settle down.

Understandably, I was terrified. But even so, I could still initially convince myself that I was only reacting to what had happened, just as everyone else alongside me was gripped with the resulting fear of silence - it was to be expected, and I was sure that I would be able to breathe easily again once the crisis had been managed, once everyone had been assured to have made it away unscathed. Maybe it was that near-desperate attempt at denial that made my heart sink so forcefully when I was called some time later to be taken by police escort downstairs - namely, when I quickly realized that I was the only one whose name the police officer had requested at our admit-desk, I knew the news I was heading toward wasn't good.

The emergency room itself was still somewhat in a state of chaos by the time I made it downstairs. People that had been sequestered in the waiting room, as well as several of the seemingly uninjured patients, were still crying steadily, still overtaken by their shock and badly frightened by what they had just witnessed. I wasn't surprised by their reactions in the least - it was difficult for me to take in, and I'd been in that environment countless times before. Yet this was significantly worse than anything I'd ever experienced during my time in medicine; the floor was littered with broken glass and overturned equipment, stained with blood in some places. From that evidence, it appeared that several people had been shot, and remembering then how the trauma teams functioned under these circumstances, I knew that some of the victims were faring worse than others. But I didn't immediately see Erik moving toward or working with the critically wounded patients as he otherwise would have, and that alone seemed to be a bad omen. And my fear was justified that much further when Nadir was the one that greeted me.

 _No…_

"He's hurt, Erik's hurt," I stated sharply when Nadir finally came to stand in front of me, coming to that horrible conclusion before he had gotten the chance to speak the truth himself, "I _know_ he is, he'd be the one waiting here for me if he wasn't."

With a heavy sigh, he nodded in response, "He was shot."

"What happened?" I cried, distantly aware that my voice had risen considerably, yet not caring to attempt to regain control of it, "How's he doing?"

A pause, then, "He's holding on."

The dread I felt then was so overwhelming that I had to fight past a wave of dizziness. Of all the possible responses that could have been given now, this one truly was among the worst - it didn't bode well in this context at all, of that I was positive. Because Nadir didn't say _Erik is doing well,_ or even, _It wasn't as bad as it sounded upstairs_. He only said the words, _He's holding on_. And that simple phrase told me far more about the situation than anything else could have.

"Let me see him," I demanded, though it was unnecessary - with a decisive nod, Nadir was already taking my arm and quickly leading me away even before I'd finished speaking.

But to my immense frustration, he abruptly stopped us short of actually entering the trauma room, saying with an even stoicism, "We need to talk before you go in - "

" - Nadir, please - "

" - It'll be fast. Just...you should be prepared for what you'll see."

"I know what I'll see."

Yet he continued as if I hadn't spoken, "He's lost a lot of blood, Christine. And he looks...unwell. Not like you've ever seen him. He's intubated now, but he kept asking for you."

"Is he conscious, though?"

"In and out," then added when I tried to leave, "One more minute, please. I need to know, have you had someone close to you in the hospital? Since you became a doctor?"

"No...why?" I asked hesitantly, now unable to follow this part of the conversation. I was impatient to see Erik - I couldn't understand why we were standing in the hallway wasting time.

Still, Nadir explained patiently, "Because it's worse to stand aside in a trauma room when you know everything that could go wrong. I need you to trust us to treat him...but I also need you to understand that still he might not make it," he said, gently putting his hands my shoulders as he continued, "I swear, I _swear_ _to you_ that I'll do everything in my power to keep him with us, but..." he trailed off, seeming unwilling to finish that statement. Honestly, he didn't need to - the truth was that not a single one of us could wish Erik's survival into existence if in fact he was too far gone to save. That's just medicine...he would've said as much himself. Tears blurred my vision, choked my voice before I could find the words to respond, and so I only nodded my understanding; from there, we finally entered the trauma room.

What I saw in front of me was no less than a nightmare. It was true that I'd known what to expect long before I stepped into that space - even if Nadir hadn't stopped to ensure that I was prepared for what I would see, I had witnessed and worked on more than enough similar injuries in the past to see the severity of this situation. Every last nuance wasn't lost to me. But this was different - the others were abstract, far removed from my own reality. Treating patients had become a matter of duty, and I was able to bite back my emotions in order to care for them as thoroughly and effectively as possible - detachment was a necessity. But now Erik...I had never seen someone I knew so badly hurt, had never seen someone I loved injured enough to threaten their life. It had been different with my father, when the end of his life had been something that we'd been able to come to terms with together, to prepare for that inevitability. Erik had been attacked - there was absolutely no reason that anyone could offer me that would justify the prospect of him dying.

There were temporary bandages placed over his gunshot wounds, the ventilator and its connected equipment obscured his face initially; I was only dimly aware of everyone else in that room looking on to my approach with what I could only imagine was pity - even as I might have appreciated the sentiment, now I just fought to ignore them all as I moved to the side of the bed. Mindful to stand opposite of the chest tube, I rested my hand on Erik's bare, scarred shoulder.

"Sweetheart, can you hear me?" I asked softly.

Slowly, he opened his eyes at the sound of my voice, and he seemed to recognize me almost immediately, much to my immense relief - recognition meant cognizance, and I had to believe that it was a good sign. But when he did recognize me, I saw clearly then how wide his eyes were with fear, how brightened they'd become with the morphine in his system. It was so deeply unsettling to see him that way; he was obviously uncomfortable, still in pain in spite of the medication, but the genuine terror shining in his eyes troubled me the most. I knew him well - he didn't frighten easily, nor would he have so openly displayed this much plain fear in front of his colleagues under any other circumstances. A natural leader in spite of his general dislike of society, Erik would have forced his composure for the sake of seeing a difficult situation through to the end; if he was showing this much of himself, then he truly believed that he was dying, because in his mind he had nothing to lose - pride meant little now. But still, I willed that not to be true, that he was wrong, because thinking anything else would've completely shattered me then.

Nadir and Dr. Moreno continued to work and talk amongst each other as I stood beside the gurney, and Erik immediately reached out to take my hand. He was so weak, yet he still gripped my hand with what was possibly the last of his remaining strength; he held fast to me as if the connection between us was the only thing tethering him to his life. When he met my eyes again, I returned that steady grasp, hoping to soothe him as I did so. But breaking eye-contact for a moment, he quickly caught Samantha's attention - gesturing a writing motion with his free hand, Erik looked at her imploringly as he moved. And immediately understanding his urgent request, she drew what he needed from the pocket of her scrubs and handed him the small notebook and pen that she kept for these purposes. Relinquishing his hold on me entirely and attempting to handle the objects with unsteady hands, Erik struggled to write out his message, his resulting frustration causing him to falter with the task more than once. It was only when Samantha and I moved to support him that he was able to write a short but legible sentence.

 _Are you hurt?_

"No," I said, looking from the paper back to him directly, "I was upstairs."

He nodded his response, then moved his hand over the gurney's rail to brush his fingers gently against my stomach. It was only a subtle,brief point of contact that he'd initiated between us - and so much so that I was sure then that no one would've even noticed his movement, nor its underlying meaning, had they not been actively seeking the gesture to begin with. But just the same, he captured my eyes with a significant, distinctly questioning look shining in his own, and I quickly understood that he was asking to be reassured of the baby's safety now as well.

"He's fine," I whispered, "He's completely fine."

And to my surprise, his relief at my answer was almost palpable. Yet even so, I knew without having to be told again that he was being sincere - although, whether this sudden acceptance of his child had occurred before he had become a victim of the shooting, or if the decision had come about as a result of it, I couldn't say. I didn't want to know, to be honest. Nor was I especially proud of the fact that his unexpected change in perspective left me concerned for the lifespan of that sincerity. It was arguably simple enough to behave in a certain way if one's own death was looming just ahead, thus implying that no strings were attached any longer to his sentiments; it was another matter entirely to want to follow through if the outcome proved otherwise. I loved him so much, and I truly didn't want the recent complexities of our situation to become a source of doubt when moving forward - if there still _could_ be any such thing. As much as it hurt to admit, I truly didn't know how to sort any of it out. I didn't know how to even begin.

But before I could allow myself to dwell on those notions any further, he took up the notebook once more, motioned for my assistance, and wrote to me again.

 _I'm so sorry._

Looking at him in disbelief, shocked that he truly believed that he needed to apologize right now, I said firmly, "Don't be sorry, Erik, alright? Please, don't think about it."

Although he looked defeated by my insistence - an unmistakable guilt flashing in his eyes over its necessity - he still made no further attempts to communicate just then. Taking the opportunity to maintain that relative calmness, I took his hand in mine again, and with my other hand I smoothed his hair away from his forehead, repeating that movement in slow, rhythmic patterns. In those unfolding moments, the reason behind our fight - every last one of our recent conflicts - didn't matter to me whatsoever. There was no room here for them; _none_ of the hurt or anger that we'd exchanged mattered if he didn't survive this.

Yet in spite of my efforts, the comfort I'd wanted so badly to him give seemed to do very little, if anything at all, to completely quiet his troubled mind. The guilt that he'd shown me was obviously continuing to weigh heavily on his conscience, the fear that he had for his life never having left him to begin with. Tears shone in his eyes more than once, but he quickly shut them each time, clearly attempting to calm himself down by denying himself those silent cries - and all at once I realized that he was trying not to panic, and likely not for the first time. But in the end, he was just too distraught for his attempts to be entirely effective, too frightened now to find any lasting sense peace on his own. And so, I brushed the tears that escaped away, held his hand that much tighter and kept whispering to him even as I fought to hold on to my own composure.

Needing confirmation that progress was being made, I turned and asked Dr. Moreno, "How much longer until he goes to surgery?"

"Ten minutes at most, according to their chief."

Nodding, I moved to focus on Erik again, coaxing him to look at me once more. For a short time after that, he seemed to level out a bit, holding my gaze steadily as I spoke to him - but in only a matter of moments, his eyes slowly drifted shut, giving unmistakable evidence that he was once again falling down into unconsciousness. He didn't respond to my voice as he'd done before, and Nadir approached us at those first signs of complications, laying his hand firmly on Erik's shoulder in an attempt to rouse him without medical intervention just yet.

"Hey, you need to stay with us, Erik," Nadir urged, raising his voice enough for it to not be missed within the noise of the room, " _Erik_ , wake up. You need to wake up," he continued, but the monitor alarms began to ring frantically in the next instant, and he gave up the now-vain attempt in order to announce sternly to the rest of the team, "His pressure's dropping."

"Erik, I know you're tired," I said softly as the others set out to their respective tasks. I moved as close to him as I could reasonably be and grasped his hand tightly once again, now terrified at the weakness he returned then; the movement he made seemed to be more a reflex than an intentional form of acknowledgement that he could understand me. Still, I continued, "Honey, please, _please_ keep fighting. We need you here, alright? Come on, please don't let go."

And I just stood beside him and held his hand and whispered my pleas for as long as I was allowed to stay, as long as it took for the nurses and physicians to determine the exact source of this new complication and begin running the code - but during that time, in spite of everything I'd said, in spite of what was being done for him, Erik didn't open his eyes again.

~~oOo~~

Dr. Khan and Dr. Moreno worked on him for just over an hour, yet for everything they tired, they couldn't get his blood pressure back up, couldn't return his heart to a steady and natural rhythm. Essentially, anything that could've gone wrong for him, _did_ go wrong, and it did so with a vengeance.

Soon after the initial crisis began, the doctors discovered the newest path the bullets had followed through his body - and that they had subsequently torn through everything in their way. When in one moment Erik was struggling yet maintaining signs of life, in the next instant any lingering hope that he'd held onto was abruptly taken away altogether. He was bleeding to death before our eyes, under the physicians' desperate hands - his status had deteriorated faster than could be effectively managed. After still more time spent with him, the doctors had ultimately needed to open Erik's chest in a last-ditch effort to repair as much of the damage as possible then and there. He just wouldn't have made it up to surgery otherwise.

I couldn't stand to watch, even in spite of seeing this kind of trauma case played out for other patients so many times before. Yet at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to turn away, either - part of me fearing that if I did, then this fight would be over all at once. Nadir had been right when we'd spoken before; it was impossible to remain distant when the victim lying on the table was someone that you loved. In all of the time that we'd been together, I had never seen Erik so helpless, and it was devastating to witness now, to know exactly what had brought him down in the first place. His head shifted slightly with each internal compression of his heart, his body jerked every time someone moved or shocked a sudden irregular heartbeat or changed tactics in his treatment. But all of that was out of his control, all artificial - he was otherwise completely lifeless as he lie flat on that gurney. The hand that I'd been holding when he lost consciousness again now hung at his side, nearly falling off the edge of the thin and bloodied mattress beneath him. I wanted - almost to the point of desperation - to take that hand in mine, to somehow beg him to feel me there and come back, just _come back to us_. And all the while, Dr. Moreno and Nadir and the nurses worked, repaired the internal damage to the best of their abilities and continued the attempt to bring Erik's heartbeat back.

"Come on, Erik. Please, come on...you need to come back," Nadir kept murmuring, looking from Erik to the monitors and back again, seeming as he did so to attempt to make the images on the screens change through sheer force of will. But Erik's heart remained still, the various pieces of equipment shrieking as if telling us all to give up, it was over. Tears blurred my vision once again, but I held them back, continued looking at the scene from only a few feet away. Every second that passed felt endless, every minute lost was one closer to the end of a life. The longer Erik stayed down, the less likely it would be to successfully revive him. We all knew that - everyone there held onto that apprehension, held on to an unspoken and fearsome threat that every effort being made now was ultimately made in vain.

His heart just wasn't beating.

Seeming to force himself to speak up, Dr. Moreno began softly, "He's been - "

" - I _know_ ," Nadir snapped as he fought back the tears in his own eyes now. Still, he made no attempt to hide them, but continued brokenly regardless, "I know how long he's been down. We have to keep trying."

"It's time to call this code," Dr. Moreno said steadily, a clear note of sympathy mingling with the tone of insistence in his voice.

The rest of us stood motionless and tense in the wake of those unbearable, damning words; it was as if any wrong move or too sharply taken breath would guarantee tragedy in the coming moments. My heart broke within the stillness that overtook the room. I felt absolutely shattered in this purgatory between perseverance and forfeit as my thoughts raced in abject disbelief; I had to hold a trembling hand over my mouth to keep from screaming, moving the other one in the next instant to rest over my stomach. Distantly, it occurred to me that it seemed as if doing so was a means of shielding the new life in me from this fierce devastation - a life that the dying man before me had helped create, that he'd shown so much remorse for denying. And once I realized that Erik might not even live to be able to meet his own child, I had to force my shuddering breathing not to morph into outright hysteria. It was all just too much for me then.

"Dr. Khan...Nadir, please listen to me," Dr. Moreno attempted, now seeming to use the informality as a means to regain his colleague's attention, his voice becoming almost imploring as he continued, " _Nadir_ , I'm sorry, but he's gone. We need to pronounce the time of death."


	28. Leave Out All the Rest

**Author's Note:** _Soooooooo, for y'all that don't hate me, welcome back! :D Thank you for the support, and please continue to let me know what you think. The title for this chapter comes from the Linkin Park song of the same name. Remember to R &R, and enjoy! _

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Chapter 21 - Leave Out All the Rest

Christine

"We need to pronounce the time of death."

Those words were like a curse - a disaster that no amount of desperate prayer or adamant denial could undo. And once they were brought into existence, my heart seized; the following moments found the world narrowed down almost entirely to the graphic scene in front of me, to the devastation that had so thoroughly overwhelmed that trauma room. I knew that it wasn't possible, yet I still could've sworn that the walls had begun to close in around me, that every last bit of air had been stolen from the hospital. Nothing else seemed to be part of reality any longer beyond those disturbing boundaries; it truly felt to me as if any of the hope that I'd kept in the periphery of my mind had been destroyed altogether. Dr. Moreno's words - even as delicately as he'd attempted to speak them - had carried in their wake a strong sense of finality. And that finality was one that I'd wanted nothing more than to reverse the moment I'd heard it, because the alternative that was presented to me in full force was absolutely unacceptable.

But in spite of sternly reminding myself to be realistic before, I couldn't find the ability to stay anywhere near as rational now. No matter what I was seeing, it just wasn't possible to lose Erik, not after everyone had fought for so long to save him - this couldn't be the conclusion of the act of violence that had taken place that afternoon.

"Wait!" I cried out, acting then in order to stall Dr. Moreno's decision to cease treatment, all while completely forgetting Nadir's explicit direction for me to not interject during this trauma.

Even so, I was instantly aware that raising my voice had caused Dr. Moreno turn some of his attention toward me - enough that he didn't immediately stop working on the patient on the gurney, didn't move from Erik's bloodied form lying prone and motionless there, while the efforts to save him were becoming increasingly more ineffective. It took every last ounce of strength that I still had to urge myself to remain where I stood, keeping far enough away from the cluster of doctors and nurses to prevent myself from being a hindrance to their concentration. And yet, I wouldn't be convinced to stay silent indefinitely, either. By then, I didn't care whatsoever if I was overstepping the strict boundaries in place between doctors and family members; nor did I care if I was only speaking as I was out of pure insanity, perhaps showing itself now as a result of my better judgement effectively becoming a thing of the past, losing myself as soon as Erik's heart had stopped beating. Regardless of it all, I couldn't prevent speaking up, from shouting past the void of resignation that was beginning to paint the expressions of those around me.

"Dr. Durant, please - " Dr. Moreno began, somehow still continuing to keep his tone soft and clear amid the shrieking alarms, regret dominating his features all the while. Regret, and the persistent and undeniable sympathy that I was quickly coming to resent him for, no matter how sincere the origin of that emotion was. But I stubbornly chose to ignore the latter - his sympathy under these circumstances only meant that death was inevitable, and I refused to even _distantly_ acknowledge Erik's death as a possibility. This _could_ _not_ be where his life ended.

So I all but begged, "You have to _wait_ , just give him more time. _Please_."

"Christine, if we stop now, then - "

" - We're not stopping," Nadir interrupted, earning shocked glances from all in attendance by taking up this argument, seemingly as determined as I was to buy more time, if our doing so could be of any help at all, "Keep going."

"Dr. Khan, he's been down too long."

"I said _keep_ _going_!"

But although he moved to do as he was told, Dr. Moreno repeated firmly, steadily, "Nadir, this isn't easy for any of us, but he's been down _too_ _long_. Even if we get a rhythm back, that still might be it for him. Me might not wake up again."

Nadir shook his head, breathless now from pairing his efforts with his obvious fight to maintain his composure, "He's been with us the entire time, we've been working on him _the entire time_. He's had oxygen, he's - "

" - But what if that's not enough - "

" - We're _not_ stopping."

"Is this even what he would want?"

" _Yes_. Just give it fifteen more minutes. If nothing works by then, we'll let him go."

And there was a weighty pause then, a beat wherein the balance holding life and death could very easily be tipped in either direction - but thankfully, after only a moment's deliberation, Dr. Moreno agreed to the new terms of Erik's treatment plan with a sharp nod, briefly glancing at me with a measure of reassurance in his eyes before turning immediately back to work. Once the argument between the doctors was resolved, once they had determined a more reasonable course of action to take, everyone else quickly followed suit.

Another five minutes had passed, everyone continuing to work with a calculated and expert precision all the while. But then almost ten more minutes had been lost before we even knew it. Yet with each passing second, with each procedure that was attempted, nothing had changed, no marks signaled that anything the doctors tried had been working - at least not for long enough to make any meaningful difference. By the time they were rapidly nearing their agreed upon fifteen-minute point of surrender, the morale in the room had begun to wane significantly once again - the tension that was surrounding us was almost palpable, suffocating, leaving not a single one of us wanting to voice any further optimism, for fear of only inviting tragedy instead. They had been working to restore Erik's heartbeat for so long - for far longer than they might have under similar conditions, the context occurring now serving as one that no medical professional wanted to see. The truth of the matter was that no one there could be said to be entirely objective; they couldn't just give up and stop trying to save their friend and colleague. But sooner or later, there would simply come a point that enough would be enough. In a few minutes, there would be nothing left of him _to_ save. We all fiercely dreaded the arrival of that instant; it felt so inevitable, and when it came, there would be no way to ignore it.

But finally, _finally_ , there was a sudden and yet unmistakable flash of movement on the screens of the surrounding medical equipment - a blip on one of the monitors, a steady beeping giving way to a frantic and insistent pulsing on another. Though it was faint at first, it was a sure sign of life just the same, appearing as if from nowhere, and one that was growing stronger.

"I've got a rhythm," Nadir said, seeming to be overtaken by his disbelief, but then he repeated a bit more loudly, " _Yes!_ I've got a rhythm. Come on, Erik. Come on...Keep it up."

Breathless and trembling uncontrollably and not wanting to do anything that might even remotely shatter the effects of this incredibly fragile moment, I watched in silence as the initially sluggish movement of Erik's heart slowly regained the strength it needed to recapture a more consistent beat. In spite of everything that had happened to him, he _was_ alive - all at once, he'd come back, had been returned firmly to this side of the veil where he belonged. Against all odds, his heart was beating on its own again. And when I mindfully slowed my racing thoughts, when I just took a deep breath and allowed myself to accept that it could very well continue to do so long enough to get him to surgery, I almost cried out in relief through the blur of tears in my eyes.

His situation remained extremely precarious, though. Unfortunately, any of the victory to be felt had to be tamped right back down again in the next moment, to be put into the appropriate perspective; because Erik was clearly still struggling to maintain an ideal pattern, his physicians and nurses working that much harder to keep him stable. This unexpected development didn't mean that moving forward would guarantee a clear path, nor its success - he still had to survive the transfer out of the ER, had to survive the surgery itself. And those lingering obstacles were terrifying for me to acknowledge. For a moment, I had to remind myself of the clear evidence of this drastic change of his condition, had to remember that the situation had shifted in his favor, and focus only on those details. Otherwise, I didn't believe that I could pull myself through to the next moment, through each to follow until this ordeal was left in the past.

"Alright, let's go," Nadir said quickly when he and Dr. Moreno finished preparing Erik for the transfer. Then, turning back to me, he said, "Go up to surgery, and I'll meet you in the waiting room when I can."

Without further words or instructions, they wheeled Erik's gurney away, the departure leaving the room in a sudden, almost eerie silence; it was as if the sounds from the emergency department were entirely unable to penetrate the walls of this trauma room any longer, not for all of the devastation that had been witnessed there that day. And in turn, I just remained where I'd been standing - frozen and overwhelmed by the gravity of it all once more, I moved only enough to look at everything around me, staring ahead in abject disbelief. There was so much blood on the floor - Erik's blood, too much of it lost to believe that he actually left this room alive. It shone dark under the surgical lights designated for the trauma rooms, a horrific mirror rendered in the sight. Still more blood covering discarded gowns and gloves and medical tools unnerved me badly then, and the tears that I had been trying to hold back again finally fell - so much so that I couldn't focus on anything beyond what I'd seen, that I didn't initially realize the moment when Samantha walked up slowly to my side, gently laying her hand on my shoulder as she did so.

Before I could acknowledge or extend my gratitude for her gesture - before I even knew what was happening to begin with - my knees went weak, and I sank to the floor. But instead of attempting to right myself, I just started crying once again. And in that instant, I was lost to those forceful sobs of mingled relief and fear, lost to the cries that were threatening to choke me as I wrapped my arms protectively around myself, thinking about my baby all the while, thinking of Erik, of the anger I'd felt toward him and _how much I still loved him_ , despite everything else that had happened between us. As I felt myself being swallowed whole by guilt and grief, I heard Samantha whispering words of comfort, as she sat down beside me and took me in her arms. And though I didn't look up, I was almost certain that we cried together. But we didn't speak otherwise, didn't dare to give a voice to the continuing fact that Erik wasn't out of danger yet. We simply remained huddled together, kneeling like that until we were required to leave the room.

From there, we made our way as quickly as possible up to the surgical floor's waiting room. Samantha made sure that I was settled, but she couldn't stay with me as long as either of us would've preferred. And though I understood that she had to return to work through the rest of her shift in the ER - especially under the present circumstances - I felt so terribly alone just the same when she left. Dejected and still trembling, I held my head in my hands and sobbed as I'd done before, and all at once I realized that there was nothing left for me to do now but wait.

~~oOo~~

The sounds of the surgical department were unmistakable to me as I sat among them, the noise effectively creating a strange and somehow too-commonplace din that swirled with the hospital's overall chaos - but in those moments of uncertainty, I recalled that sometimes before today, whenever I'd be called up to this floor from oncology to check in on a patient or to perform some other task for my resident, I'd remember my first time working there after I had started my internship, or my first time making my way around the hospital as a student. I would remember how terrifying and exhilarating my experiences were in equal turns, before I'd eventually come to understand how to learn the practice of medicine without falling apart. And those thoughts alone were usually enough to keep me grounded - they were enough to reassure me that everything I was doing with my life was happening for a reason, that I acted with purpose going forward. Sometimes, when I'd be lost in those memories as I waited near the admit-desk for a chart or a consultation, I would see Erik in the department coming out of a surgery himself, the smile in his eyes clear upon recognizing me, even as the rest of his face would be obscured by his surgical mask; but that never mattered, because everything else was still perfect for us, and we were doing so well together, and that was the only thing of importance that I wanted to consider.

But after the shooting occurred, that singular feeling of contentment had ceased to exist within these walls, the happenings taking place on the surgical service had lost the ability to pull me into the fond memories I'd built since coming to Chicago - instead, they'd abruptly become nothing more than a combination of sound and shrillness that rendered me numb to optimism in contrast. Rather, I could only think about negativity, could only think about Erik's reaction to our baby, our fight, of holding his cold hand when he closed his eyes in the trauma room...As those thoughts took over and inspired yet another bout of tears, time seemed to have all but stood still in that environment, the collective meandering of patients and staff no longer serving as a frame of reference of temporality. If a nurse had moved away from their station, if a surgeon passed me on their way to speak with a member of one of the waiting families nearby, that movement was nothing to me - none of what they did or said could possibly convince the hands on the clock begin to move again, and therefore, they were meaningless.

Nervously tapping my foot against the faded carpet, and fidgeting with the emerald at my throat, I could only distantly acknowledge how agitated I was by the radio silence I was receiving from Erik's surgical team. And although I sincerely _tried_ , I just couldn't find it in myself to bring about any sense of relative peace on my own. Maybe it was fortunate, then, that Nadir finally arrived after a substantial time away, now essentially proving to be the one person that could effectively pull me out of my miserable worrying - even if that was only a temporary relief.

"Any word?" he asked when I stood to meet him.

We embraced a moment - a comfort to the both of us - before I pulled away and shook my head, "Nothing yet," then, as we sat down together, I asked, "How bad is it downstairs?"

He shrugged, the tension he carried still quite clear in his body and his tone when he responded, "Mostly settled down. I'm sorry it took me so long to get back up here, I had to finish getting everything under control, then give a press statement," he said, and when I looked at him in surprise by that piece of information, he explained resignedly, "Emergency services is my department, I had to give a statement to the reporters. So did the cops. Hospital admins are handling public relations in the future, though."

"This is on the news?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Which is probably why the TVs are off in all the waiting rooms."

"Were you able to find out exactly what happened?"

He hesitated, "Maybe we should wait on the details," then, he leveled a knowing glance at me when I made an attempt to protest, "I'm worried about how much stress you're under."

"Erik told you about the baby."

"Right."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't going to keep it from you and Sahra, but I had to tell Erik first - "

" - I'm not offended. But I'm still worried about the stress affecting your baby right now."

I sighed, attempting to rein in my misplaced frustration; this was my friend, and his heart was in the right place. I would do well to remember that. So I feigned calmness with the idea that doing so would bring it naturally in time, "Nadir, please. Not knowing what happened isn't helping me. Anyway, I need something to focus on besides waiting for the surgeon to come back in."

He paused, appearing to weigh his words before he spoke, his voice even, "Alright. First, I want you to know that the men that did this have been arrested, you don't have to worry about them. That's all I know. But this started when we had a drug-seeker come in earlier, and he had to be turned away without getting what he wanted. You saw how backed up the ER had been, we were just too busy to humor his sob-story, so instead of trying at another hospital, he came back here with a buddy to retaliate."

"They targeted people?"

"That's not clear yet, last I heard. I didn't _see_ the first shots fired, but based on what I saw afterward, I know they weren't exactly discriminating," he added bitterly.

"Jesus," I shuddered, "How'd they get through security, though?"

"By force," Nadir responded, once again sparing no small amount of anger toward the gunmen, and not needing to explain _that_ point to me any further. Frankly, I didn't want him to. He was silent again for a moment before murmuring, "Erik was outside when it all started, I _saw_ him leave," he said despairingly, then sighed and hung his head in his hands, seeming too exhausted to actually weep as he continued, "He should've just stayed outside."

For my part, I could just barely suppress the sob rising from my chest at the idea that Erik could have been _spared_ from all of this nightmare, and even though I knew there would be no real answer in these moments - not unless or until we could speak to Erik himself - I asked helplessly, "Then why did he come back in?"

Nadir gave another shrug, but then he added suddenly - determinedly, "That doesn't matter now. He's going to make it."

" _He almost died._ "

"That's not going to happen," he insisted, "Not after everything he's been through. He can't give up now, I won't let that happen."

"Nadir, his heart - "

"It started beating again. _That_ means something."

"I hope you're right. I can't - "

But before I could finish that thought, someone walked into the waiting room in a rush. As such, it took me a moment to realize exactly who I was seeing, when Raoul approached the small grouping of chairs where Nadir and I sat. And from the sense of purpose I noted in his gait, I knew immediately that he was coming over to talk - to ask questions. Even so, I no longer had any substantial reasons to be concerned about his motivation for wanting to speak with me now, at least not nearly to the same extent that I had in the past. The truce that he and I had arrived at several months ago was still firmly in place, and though we didn't spend as much time together as we had after our breakup and the year or so that followed, our interactions had regained more of their familiar quality. I was grateful for that - because from the start of each conflict in the past, I'd hated the idea of losing his presence in my life, even if that presence wasn't what he wanted it to be. But regardless, the fact that we'd found even the smallest form of reconciliation wasn't something to be ignored, and once again I'd begun to feel more ready to engage with him as his friend, rather than as a wary figure from the past.

Yet seeing him when I did then, it quickly became apparent to me that I wasn't in any emotional state to be able to be on the receiving end of that friendship - if anything was different, perhaps I might have needed some of that measure of kindness returned. Now, having anyone there that didn't already exist within Erik's immediate circle felt wrong - almost distasteful.

Ignorant of my thoughts, Raoul was standing before me in the next instant, pulling me to stand again as he hugged me and asked, "Christine, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, but - "

" - Why're you here? Who's hurt?"

"It's Erik. He was shot."

Raoul was obviously taken aback by that information, though his reaction didn't surprise me at all. He wasn't in a position to have been given details about his superiors in a situation like this - he wouldn't have had any idea of who was hurt and who wasn't if the specifics didn't affect him directly. Even so, he seemed distressed by the news, helplessly reaching up to run a hand through his hair as he murmured, "Oh my God. Christine, I'm sorry. He's still in surgery, right?" he asked, and at my affirmative nod, added with genuine concern, "How is he?"

"No news yet," Nadir responded as he appeared at my side, and I was grateful for his tactful intervention then - because while I honestly appreciated Raoul's presence, having this conversation with _anyone_ again was becoming more difficult, and I just wanted to step away.

"Dr. Khan," Raoul began, "If there's anything I can do - "

" - Thank you, Dr. Chaney," Nadir said softly, even as his dismissal was clear just the same, "For now, just go back to your resident and see if you can help anyone out downstairs."

And to my relief - although I felt guilty to admit as much, even to myself - Raoul offered Nadir a respectful nod, then gave me one more comforting embrace before turning and leaving the department. It was endearing to think that he'd likely gone off to do as he was told, because in spite of the deep animosity that he and Erik still shared - though they both had the good sense to act within reason and grudgingly agree not antagonize each other while having to work in the same department - it seemed that Raoul could never be cruel enough to make trouble when the person he disliked so intensely was suffering. Neither man was willing to start building bridges, but the method of approaching one another with caution - both on a personal and professional basis - had thus far served them well. But still, that was only a small comfort to me now, all things considered.

"He doesn't know about the baby," I murmured once I was sure we were alone again, returning to my seat and crossing my arms tightly.

"Doesn't he?" Nadir responded as he joined me, appearing genuinely surprised, "I'd assumed you would've told him by now. I know you two were close. Shared history and all that."

I laughed humorlessly, "It's _because_ of our history that I don't know how to tell him about this yet. He won't want to know about me having a baby with someone else."

"That seems a bit possessive," he observed, his voice uneasy.

Seeing the misunderstanding, I shook my head, "It's not like that. Erik didn't tell you?"

"He respects your privacy, Christine. If he didn't think that it was his place to share something, then he wouldn't have. Not even to me."

I smiled sadly at that last attempt at levity, before explaining as simply as possible, "I had a miscarriage, a few years back. It was Raoul's."

Nadir looked at me for a time, though his gaze was somewhat far off, before he spoke again, "He argued with Erik once...it was over a year ago, but I think that's what it was about."

Knowing the argument he was remembering then, I nodded, "It was. Erik and I fought about it that day, too."

"When did you find out?" he asked after a span of silence - graciously moving past the subject of my past with Raoul - and I knew immediately that he was referring to the baby that Erik and I had conceived.

"Only a couple of weeks ago."

"That's why you and Erik were fighting today," he said thoughtfully, having no true reason to question me in order to confirm that conclusion for himself. He knew us both well enough by then to be able to bypass that necessity; in a way, I was grateful not to have to explain further.

Still, rather than speaking toward that gratitude, or even repeating what had already been said, I only looked away, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes as I cried, "He doesn't want this."

"He's just afraid. If his mind was made up that he didn't want to be a part of your life, then he wouldn't have asked for you today. He wouldn't put you through this if he still meant to walk out."

"You don't know that."

"I do, because I know _him_."

Furiously wiping my eyes, I scoffed at his words, angry once again at the world and what I'd decided was my own stupid inability to maintain my composure with every obstacle the world threw at me, "At this point, I don't even care if he abandons us now. It doesn't matter anymore, I just want him to live through this."

"He _will_. And he'll come around. He's just...freaked out right now, I think."

I shook my head, still crying miserably in spite of my efforts to stop, entirely unwilling to broach that subject any longer than we already had, but still finding myself unable to keep from admitting instead, "The last thing I said to him before the shooting was that I didn't care if I never saw him again. Those exact words, that I didn't care. Then this happens."

He took my hand tightly in his - such a fatherly gesture that made my heart ache in turn - as he said emphatically, "You didn't know that _any_ of this was going to happen. None of us did."

"He felt so bad," I whispered tearfully, lost now, as if I hadn't heard him speak words of reassurance at all, "I saw it in his eyes, Nadir. He felt so guilty about our fight, about the baby. He was so afraid, and he thought I hated him. I don't want that to be our last real conversation."

"It won't be."

"Nadir - "

"It _won't be_ , Christine. I told him that he could make amends with you in recovery, and I'm telling you that now. Bar none."

And I couldn't respond to that any more than I could respond to Erik's abandonment, to so much of the past coming back and ready to fight for dominance - I didn't know _how_ to respond to any of this anymore. Rather, we just fell into silence once again.

Time passed with slightly more consistency after that discussion, although I couldn't say how much time had actually gone by. Even though I knew the approximate duration of the kind of surgery that Erik was undergoing, those key details didn't matter; the moments just seemed to blur into one another either way, heedless of reality, every last one proving to be so incredibly frightening and confusing and surreal. I hated it, hated what had happened that day, hated every instant of anger and confusion that had brought us down so low. With each passing second, my dread increased, and I had absolutely no idea how to combat that dread beyond simply waiting it out. After a time, I laid a hand over my stomach, drawing as much strength as I could from the little life there below my heart. And I prayed that this small glimpse of a family would be enough to bring Erik back to us - that even if he hated me for what I said to him when we'd exchanged our fear and our anger in the heat of that argument, that he could somehow accept what he'd helped to create, and draw from the reassurance that I sought then. If he survived, I swore to myself that I would find a way to forgive him and move forward - but his survival was paramount to all of that. Everything else could wait, everything else could be left aside while he fought for his life.

Suddenly, the chief of the department - upon determining herself charged directly with Erik's care - walked into the room, startling me away from my thoughts. Nadir and I both stood up quickly once she'd made her presence known, a distinctly nervous anticipation punctuating our every move. All the while, I dreaded that I might see regret in the surgeon's eyes, just as I had in Dr. Moreno's - I was terrified that I might now see Dr. Reyes betray those telltale signs that she was gently preparing us for the worst. Doctor's cannot hide that kind of primal reaction in themselves. They learn to control it over the years they spend in their work, but the instinct for sympathy never fades away from a person entirely - even Erik once admitted to being unable to school his own features entirely when having to break the life-altering news to a family that a patient they loved had died. Yet even so, I wanted to convince myself that I wouldn't see it now - because if I didn't feel that I had to be brave then, I would just as soon have looked away altogether, would run away and pretend that none of this was happening. But I couldn't do either - I had to face this, no matter what the outcome would prove to be. There was nowhere to hide anymore.

So I met Dr. Reyes' eyes, carefully searched their familiarity with unmasked fear for that sympathetic expression - for the indication of exactly how Erik's fate had been sealed that day.


	29. Rose Mountain

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back, and thank you all for reading and reviewing! I apologize for the torture - I'll unfuck this now, yes? Yes. Also, please note that I don't work in the field of medicine whatsoever, so everything taking place here is solely based off research, some personal experience from the perspective of the patient, and many hours spent watching ER on television. But I hope that my attempts at writing this medical drama have been entertaining and at least somewhat realistic so far! :D Anywhoodles, the title of this chapter comes from the Screaming Females song of the same name. Please let me know what y'all think via reviews, and enjoy!_

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Chapter 22 - Rose Mountain

Erik

 _From childhood's hour I have not been  
As others were—I have not seen  
As others saw—I could not bring  
My passions from a common spring—  
From the same source I have not taken  
My sorrow—I could not awaken  
My heart to joy at the same tone—  
And all I lov'd—I lov'd alone—  
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn  
Of a most stormy life—was drawn  
From ev'ry depth of good and ill  
The mystery which binds me still—  
From the torrent, or the fountain—  
From the red cliff of the mountain—  
From the sun that 'round me roll'd  
In its autumn tint of gold—  
From the lightning in the sky  
As it pass'd me flying by—  
From the thunder, and the storm—  
And the cloud that took the form  
When the rest of Heaven was blue  
Of a demon in my view—_

 _\- "Alone" - Edgar Allan Poe, 1829_

Opening my eyes slowly, I was very distantly aware of the various pieces of medical equipment blinking and beeping within the confines of the space I occupied, steadily alerting all in attendance to continued signs of life. A life that hadn't been lost; the notion seemed strange, though, felt immensely out of place, but somehow that fact still wasn't lost upon me then. Even so, I couldn't remember the exact reason _why_ that fragment of information was so significant for me, either. No matter how much I tried to concentrate and find the source, I only knew that I had to acknowledge the importance of this unnamed survival, regardless of how unsure I was about its origin or my connection to it - I _needed_ to do so, one way or another. And so I tried once again to just settle myself down and focus, gradually becoming more aware of the hospital room that I was in, then noticing that I was in the surgical ICU. People spoke in hushed tones around me, sometimes to me, but…

But I couldn't actually respond, and that made absolutely no sense. For the instant that followed, I didn't feel that I was a part of reality any longer - at least as I'd known it - and I had no idea why that would be happening in the first place. Everything was so skewed from what I had otherwise counted on to be fact. I was certainly in the ICU, yet I clearly wasn't working, I wasn't doing rounds or fulfilling any of my other duties there. Rather, I was lying down, stiff and in pain, disconnected from the world yet present there all at once; I didn't understand it whatsoever.

Immensely confused, yet still trying to keep my mindset as rational as possible in order to speak - to call out to the colleagues whose voices I recognized nearby - I was instead startled to realize that my voice had failed me altogether. No sound came at all from that attempt to form words, and the lethargy that seemed to have taken ahold of my thoughts had in turn caused me to lose several seconds to my disoriented state. It stalled the sense of reason that I'd wanted to keep, before I finally comprehended that something was in my throat that prevented speech; a hard plastic barrier was now there, unforgiving and unyielding. A tube, and from which I felt the force of air into my body, expanding my chest artificially, the sensation incredibly unnatural and almost painful. Instinct alone told me to fight against that obstruction, to push my way past it and get the hell out of this disturbing reality. The effort of doing so, however, had only worsened my overall state, to the point that I began to struggle to regain what little composure I had left.

Growing steadily more upset, I tried in the next moment to move my hands, to bring them up to my mouth and hopefully feel exactly what was there - or to _at least_ make better sense of why there was a tube in my throat. But my attempt at movement was immediately halted; when I looked down with still-blurred vision to find the source of the impediment, I was shocked to see that my wrists were bound to the rails on either side of the bed that I was lying in. Confusion gripped me that much more then, but that confusion quickly gave way to terror in the face of something I couldn't describe - I still couldn't even find an effective way to put the pieces together that might explain why I was in this situation to begin with.

So I just tried to move my arms again, now hoping for a different outcome, even in spite of being well aware of the restraints around my wrists. But obviously, the attempt was useless. And anyway, even if I had been able to move my arms more than an inch from where they were held, the resulting pain that shot through my chest at just the slight motion that I had made was excruciating - it was more than enough to convince me not to try again. Rather, I became tense, my only movement from breathing so heavily against the tubing in my throat from the exertion.

Frustrated and remaining more than a little disoriented, I finally just admitted defeat, opting to just look around the room again for the time being; when I did, the first thing I noticed, and that I'd missed before, was a bright-yellow plastic band on one of my wrists, the text on it reading _FALL RISK_ and situated above another hospital bracelet. Seeing that, I was somewhat beginning to understand why I was restrained, if nothing else - I couldn't remember it then, but I had likely become combative at some point between initially returning from whatever surgery that I'd just been through, and this moment of regaining full-consciousness, probably during the initial process of lessening my sedation. That really wasn't an uncommon occurrence for people that were coming out of anesthesia; there were so many times in the past that I'd witnessed my own patients resisting waking up in the frightening and unfamiliar environment I was in now.

But even recalling that small piece of knowledge didn't help stem the flow of panic that was continuing to threaten me, fighting to take over. I had gathered a few more details about my surroundings by then, but I still didn't know _what_ brought me to them, and that scared me badly. Rationality was waiting for me in the wings, whispering occasional reminders of my safety, but it wasn't loud enough to be heard over the betraying insistence in my mind that I was in danger. My breathing quickened once again, the resistance of what I now knew to be a ventilator adding that much more stress to everything else that I was going through. Tears stung in my eyes as I struggled firmly against my fall-restraints, against the resulting pain that I was desperately trying to ignore. None of that mattered to me then - I just wanted _out of there_.

"He's breathing over the vent," a familiar voice broke through my haze of fear, before giving further instructions to someone standing beyond the point I could see. Then, they spoke to me directly, "Easy, you're alright, Erik. Can you hear me? Do you remember where you are? Do you remember what happened to you?"

Shaking my head, I quickly closed my eyes, feeling hot tears running down my face, even as I allowed myself to be pushed carefully back to lying against the raised portion of my hospital bed, and I forced myself to stay calm. Of course I knew where I was, I knew that I'd had surgery recently - I'd figured out at least that much by then, that wasn't my problem; not knowing exactly why I was in the SICU now, though, was incredibly disturbing, and I was having enough trouble just trying to process everything that happened since I'd woken up. It spiked my anxiety in a way that made me legitimately concerned for myself, concerned that my racing heartbeat might actually cause me more damage than had already been done. As it stood, my situation seemed bad enough; I had to settle down, or I'd only risk making it worse.

 _I'm safe...I'm in the hospital. Relax..._

But that only worked for so long before I lost control again, before I was shaking and fighting back tears once more, all but ignoring anyone speaking to me from my bedside then; and in the next instant, _everything_ came rushing back to me - I saw the man that shot me, felt the pain from the bullets, fear from the moment I woke after being shot to losing consciousness again later. I remembered talking to Nadir and calling for Christine, the feeling of her holding my hand in the trauma room, and sincerely believing that I was going to die. Then there was nothing, only darkness for an immeasurable time, a void I couldn't escape. Slowly, each of the missing pieces that I sought fell into place, came into the proper order, and the image that I was left with became all too clear - I was in the ICU on a ventilator because I had undergone surgery, and I'd needed that surgery because I was shot in the chest. Somehow, it seemed more favorable to have forgotten it all indefinitely - I knew it wouldn't be easy to lay the memories of this event to rest going forward. As much as I wanted to, I would never forget this experience.

Dr. Reyes had just asked me all of those questions, I realized - and had done so in an attempt to assess my neurological status, one of many post-operative requirements. And so I looked at her and nodded to assure that I was more or less all there. Then, I drew her attention to my side, and slowly formed one of my hands into the shape of a gun, gesturing as if it had been fired in order to explain what I remembered happening. Reyes said nothing then, only gave me a look of sympathy at my answer, but still appeared satisfied with the content my response.

"I'm going to take that tube out of your throat now, alright?"

She really didn't need my permission for this procedure, but she didn't pause to get it from me, either - though I honestly couldn't say I cared if she chose to streamline this process wherever possible. Now that I had a better idea of what was going on, I just wanted the damn thing out, wanted to have some semblance of freedom restored to me, even if that was only in the form of using my own voice. It wasn't long before she and a nurse were ready to work, and while I knew exactly what to expect from the extubation - _that_ particularly unpleasant experience was one that I'd already gone through firsthand before this day - that prior knowledge still didn't make it any more tolerable than not knowing. I nearly choked when she pulled the tube out, the movement causing the pain in my chest to return with a vengeance. Groaning when the nurse started me on an oxygen flow through a nasal cannula, adjusting it beside the feeding tube that was already in place, I tried to suppress another coughing fit. I closed my eyes again tightly, refusing all the while to acknowledge why the pain was so bad. I'd decided by then that the image of my own chest being forced open was more than I could tolerate for the moment.

"Give him a bolus of morphine," Reyes said to the nurse, removing the restraints still binding my wrists as she did so, "And go get Dr. Durant."

Christine's name recaptured my attention, and I asked hoarsely, "She's here?"

"Don't try to talk, Erik. But yes, she's stayed with you the whole time you've been here. We really had to fight her just to go get some rest, but she's nearby - "

" - I need to see her - "

" - You'll see her soon. Settle down, you'll see her soon."

That was an immense relief for me to hear then, but I took Reyes' instruction not to talk seriously, and opted not to voice my response.

Instead, once the restraints were taken off, I tentatively flexed each of my hands, noting how difficult even that simple movement was. It was strange to consider how weak I'd gotten, to realize in turn that I still didn't know how long I'd actually been unconscious. Another unsettling notion. But I was quickly distracted from that line of thinking; my movement aggravated sutures and broken bones, and I had to lean my head back and lay my hands at my sides in an attempt to stay as motionless as possible. I'd already felt my exhaustion returning to me from the brief exertion of waking and being extubated, and this latest bout of pain served to make it that much stronger. Almost unwillingly, I closed my eyes, drifting somewhere between reality and a haze of pain meds wherein I should've slept; from a medical standpoint, it would be the best thing I could do for myself then. The body heals during sleep - rest is as important to fostering recovery as anything else we provide for a patient's treatment. But even in my exhaustion, I didn't actually _want_ to sleep again; in being perfectly honest, I was still too gripped by the fear that I wouldn't wake up, and that lingering fear only brought on more restlessness.

But before that could turn into a problem of its own, Christine was finally led in. She looked as weary as I felt, the tears in her eyes telling me that she was still upset by everything that she'd witnessed. Yet she also showed clear relief when our eyes met now, likely brought on by allowing herself to cling to at least some hope in the end. I loved her for holding onto that hope at all, loved her for staying with me in spite of everything that happened between us. Seeing her as I did then, the fact that she was actually in room with me, she was so breathtakingly beautiful in my eyes. If any wordly force had brought me back, it was her, I was sure of it - even _thinking_ that I could've ever stayed out of her life, that I could've walked away from her was my biggest mistake. I truly had almost lost her - I'd almost _left_ her. Yet she'd still stayed when I needed her.

I didn't realize that I was crying until she was beside me, taking my hands in hers.

"Christine - "

" - Don't try to talk yet - "

" - I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I sobbed breathlessly, ignoring her appeal for the sake of my broken voice as I attempted to pull myself upright again, and get as close to her as possible. I'd almost been able to fully embrace her, but doing so was physically too painful for me to handle for long. So instead, she followed me when I'd leaned back again, and with that, she brought her arms around me as securely as she was able to, clearly mindful of each tube and wire I was still connected to, mindful of the PICC line in my arm. But I didn't care whatsoever about anything that was surrounding us then, I just held her close and wept into her shoulder and repeated my desperate apology to her, begging for her forgiveness for everything I'd done to hurt her.

"Shh, it's alright, sweetheart. Calm down," she whispered, pulling back carefully before taking ahold of my hand again, coaxing me to remain still with her free hand. I matched her grip for as long as I could, thoroughly annoyed by what little strength I was able to return. Yet I didn't dwell on it, either, so long as her hand remained in mine. And I just silently cried for a time, finally beginning to truly process what happened to me, everything that _almost_ happened, everything that I'd so foolishly tried to give up with Christine. She meant the world to me and more, and yet I'd almost let the relationship we'd built slip through my hands like sand caught on a breeze. She didn't deserve the hell I put her through, didn't deserve my abandonment. The fact that she was by my side then was nothing short of a miracle and an act of mercy, as far as I was concerned.

"I thought I'd never see you again," I admitted, attempting to continue speaking and move forward again, only to gasp sharply at the pain the motion caused. Moving beyond an extremely limited range of motion was simply out of the question for me, it seemed.

Christine held my shoulders gently in the next moment, an unspoken but firm command to _just stay put,_ before she reached up to brush my disheveled hair away from my face, as she had done for me so many times in the past. The familiarity of her gesture held firm to my heart.

"You're alright now," she repeated, her tone soft, "You're safe."

I took in her words, closed my eyes against the tears that followed her voice, but I could only nod in acknowledgment that I heard her - any other response was impossible for me to find.

~~oOo~~

The clearest memories that I have of the initial hours after my waking, were of the pain that I was in, and of constantly feeling cold - chilled so often to the point that I was left shivering almost violently in my bed. Both issues were difficult for me to handle for very long. My injuries and their subsequent treatments were inherently painful, and the medication meant to combat that pain obviously wore off eventually. Though I was being given dilaudid through the PICC, I didn't like how unfocused and disoriented it made me feel, and between the doses I was that much more miserable; I knew that healing would be a gradual process, and based on how I felt now, I sincerely wasn't looking forward to it. Pairing that with the anemia that severe blood-loss caused, I was better off sleeping whenever I could. Doing so at least offered me somewhat of a reprieve during that time, but it was only physically. Whenever I closed my eyes and attempted to relax, instead I saw the events that brought me here unfolding again, and that was terrifying. Following each nightmare, I'd wake up with a gasp, my heart pounding and my hands shaking as I reached out for Christine, because no one else brought me any comfort.

I continued in that manner long after regaining consciousness, and had let that stress stay close before I'd been convinced to allow myself to fall asleep, rather than fight it. Though grudgingly at first, I was starting to to do, still exhausted and upset, but relatively calmed by the voices I heard of the physicians and nurses and other patients around me, by familiar sounds of my department that I worked alongside for so long. Hearing them all now from the perspective of the patient, rather than as the surgeon, had piqued my curiosity enough to compel me to focus on that aspect of my environment, instead of my place there - in turn, some of the restlessness I'd felt up to that point was beginning to abate. It was only when I heard a distinct voice beyond my bed, and then felt Christine's hand slip from mine, that I started waking up again.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get here," Nadir whispered, and after a pause when, I'd assumed, he and Christine embraced one another in greeting, he continued, "How's he doing?"

"Stable, he's past the worst of it now," Christine replied, giving a sigh that sounded very much like a significant weight had been lifted from her shoulders, before explaining, "Vitals are fine, neuro-function is normal. He's breathing on his own."

"Alḥamdulillāh," he murmured, an appeal of gratitude to God, then a bit louder, "Thank you for calling me, Christine. I won't stay too long if - "

" - Nadir," I called, cringing at the harsh quality that my voice had taken on as I stirred.

But he wouldn't let me try to sit up fully when he approached, instead placing his hand on my shoulder as he said, "It's good to see you awake."

I nodded, then responded flatly, "It's good not to be dead."

"I'm sure it is," he laughed, seeming to be shocked by my bluntness as he leaned in closer to hug me - a rare gesture, but one that I allowed, because he had very much helped save my life, "Don't you _ever_ scare us like that again."

I scoffed, and that was about all the acknowledgment of his words that I could manage before exhaustion threatened to pull me under once more - I'd certainly pushed myself much further than I should have already, and I was feeling the effects of my doing so now. But Nadir understood that without having to be told outright, and simply left me to try to fall asleep again, speaking to Christine briefly before heading back downstairs. Then, throughout the rest of the first day, a few of my other coworkers had shocked me when they tried to come visit, to wish me well as Nadir had done. To be honest, I was grateful for the consideration, but even so, I'd quickly decided that Nadir was the only one from the hospital that I'd wanted to come in to see me. So I made it clear to everyone on-call on the surgical service that I'd just really preferred to be left alone - Nadir and Christine were the only people outside of my post-op care team I had wanted to communicate with for any extended period.

As it stood, Christine and I had yet to even address or attempt to resolve the fight that we'd had before the shooting - nevermind any discussions about our baby or anything else of consequence. I suspected that we wouldn't be doing so immediately. But she still stayed with me in the SICU as often as she could - especially at the start of my time staying there. She'd been given some time for emergency leave from her internship, and spent her days beside me as I recovered. But while I truly appreciated her for the effort, I also had to admit to myself that it did little good on my part. Because reassuring though she was, in the end there wasn't anything that she, nor anyone else could say to me that would help me feel any peace of mind. Certainly not any time soon. I couldn't get out of my own mind long enough at any given moment to try to put anything into perspective, to allow myself to handle this as I needed to; rather, every instant of pain, every time one of the doctors or nurses came over and administered care had served as a reminder of how shattered I was, both inside and out.

It's violating, even disturbing to sense that the body is no longer whole - to see the evidence of the bones in my chest having been broken, or to think about the fact that another human being held my heart in their hands, that someone actually held my _life_ in their hands. It was all too much to accept. Injuries could often be as mentally traumatic as they are physically, and for me, treating them was as violent as their cause, ultimately felt like an assault, even as doing so was meant to save my life. It felt impossible to separate past and present and come to terms with any of it - I honestly didn't know how, nor was I even sure I could if I did. My survival wasn't a miraculous or inspiring thing in my mind, but rather the frightening and painful outcome of being attacked. It grated at my anxiety, and I had no idea what to do with that - I had no idea what to do with _myself_.

Yet in spite of knowing why doing so would be a mistake, I remained almost entirely silent about how badly I was handling myself, save for the initial moments that I'd been awake, of confessing to Christine that I was so sure that our last meeting in the ER would prove to be our final encounter. For the time being, I didn't want to voice the decidedly negative shift in my thoughts until I had the necessary words to do so - at that point, I had no way of putting it out into the world properly, so it simply felt more appropriate to wait until I did. I truly believed that I had no other alternatives.

After coming to that decision, though, most of my silence was otherwise due to my physical inability to speak clearly, or at least without pain - a side-effect of being on a ventilator. To treat that ongoing issue, the speech therapist on our staff came in to see me several times over the days that followed to work on getting my voice back to normal, to strengthen and heal the muscles in my throat that would allow me to talk and eat and drink again as I'd done before. And although a large part of that had to do with healing naturally, the amount of time dedicated to my overall recovery would be determined by whether or not I followed through with the therapy itself - the less I did, the longer I'd feel the effects of the intubation. Until I healed, and beyond the discomfort I felt at not being able to speak in general, my feeding tube would also have to remain in place, because I couldn't swallow well enough yet to take in any nutrients by myself. And so, out of necessity - and for lack of anything better to do - I focused the majority of my energy on working with the speech therapist to manage that set of problems immediately.

But for all the benefits that my doing so would bring, it was still an exceedingly slow and frustrating process just the same - I made more than one mistake during that time. At one point, when I had been distracted by one thing or another, I'd unthinkingly tried to take a drink of water on my own, without using the powder that I'd been given to make it a consistency that wouldn't irritate my throat. So, unsurprisingly, the water had proven to be too thin, and I nearly choked on it, spilling the rest and sending the cup that I'd just used clattering across the floor, all a result of my carelessness. With that misstep, I'd earned myself a stern reprimand from my nurses, and more than one heated reminder to use the thickener for anything that I drank for the next several days. I'd absolutely hated it - the substance made everything taste and feel like sand, but there was little to be done for it; in the meantime, I had to be patient while I waited to clear that hurdle.

"You know better than to try straight water right now," Christine said when she returned from trying to rest, and found out what happened.

"It wasn't on purpose," I muttered, weakened from choking on the water, and lying back before the wave of dizziness I was feeling then did that for me.

Sitting down on the bed next to me, she asked, "Are you alright?"

"My chest hurts," I responded, but then quickly amended at her look of concern for my phrasing, "It'll be fine, it was my own damn fault."

"They say doctors make the worst patients, you know."

"Right," I laughed humorlessly, "Don't shit where you eat."

"That's so vulgar, Erik," she smiled, seemingly against her better judgment.

But she kept her smile just the same; I loved the way it reached her eyes when she carefully moved to lay beside me, having enough room to do so in a way that was comfortable for both of us. She'd just started doing that in the past couple of days, and a part of me honestly wondered if that renewed behavior was only due to my getting stronger, or because she was beginning to feel reassured about spending time with me in this relatively more familiar way. Whether or not we _actually_ broke up before the shooting was somewhat unclear - we danced around the subject in our anger, made threats about ending the relationship, and there were so many hurt feelings on both sides. But that was all, and so far, everything remained unresolved between us, no clear answers in either direction. The love was still there, she'd already told me as much by then, but our official status as a couple remained undefined, and she didn't even know that I wanted to be in our child's life, that I wanted this family with her; and I didn't know how to tell her. It seemed that neither of us was brave enough to broach either subject yet.

Even so, our return to physical contact was comforting to me in more ways than one, and had served as a reminder that we were still together somehow, at least in a deeper capacity beyond just friendship. I had to keep reminding myself of that crucial detail, because I knew that if I didn't, then I couldn't handle moving forward - selfishly, I needed something to depend on.

~~oOo~~

Days later, once my voice had returned more or less to its normal state, I still remained silent altogether on the subject of my anxiety, but I was otherwise physically recovering as I was supposed to, at the very least. Noting that, I had determined that it was very unlikely that I would bring the anxiety up to anyone at all yet - Christine provided me comfort in a general sense, and that was usually enough to bring me back to reality from the worst of my unease. And anyway, for the time being, my attention was drawn elsewhere. For better or worse, I had thoroughly convinced myself that the distraction was helpful; I simply wasn't ready to speak. In the span of time between the shooting until now, I had been through too much, had _witnessed_ too much, and having to relive any of it by talking about it certainly wasn't something I felt anywhere near ready or willing to attempt. What I felt then was bordering on depression, and as such, I didn't want to risk inviting more trouble for myself by dwelling on anything for longer than was necessary. And from there, I just left it at that; in my mind, it didn't make any sense to keep adding stress where too much already existed. I'd given myself enough to handle as it stood. So I just opted instead to essentially ignore my emotional state, and take everything else about my hospital stay slowly, focus only on recovering and making a sincere attempt to listen to my doctors to foster healing.

Shortly afterward, I was transferred from post-surgical intensive care to a slightly less invasive room on the floor - this one more resembling a hotel suite than a space in a hospital, save for the disgusting amount of poorly-concealed medical equipment lining the walls. Still, it didn't escape me that its primary and most obvious benefit was that it was private, although I strongly suspected that my position in the department played a larger role in influencing that factor of the assignment than anything else. But I truly didn't have the energy nor the desire to make any criticisms about it, either, and so I just said nothing at all when I was moved and had gotten settled - better to be in a place where it was relatively quiet than somewhere I'd have to deal with other people. However, I quickly began to associate the room with more pain.

Because once I'd arrived, Dr. Reyes gave orders in her notes to get me up and walking as soon as possible - which, incidentally, always translated to _immediately_ in our department, a standard that I was familiar with. I had just never been on the receiving end of that requirement before. Following my first attempt, though, I _very_ _much_ wanted to avoid trying again; starting on physical therapy was a process I wasn't eager to continue, but the choice was out of my hands. In spite of the resulting pain, in spite of my body's weakness, I knew that I needed to rebuild my strength; my muscles had already atrophied enough simply for being in the hospital in the first place, and further inactivity would only serve to prolong undoing the damage, therefore halting any more progress I could hope to make in the future. Although I'd be lying if I didn't say that I had hated that weakness, hated becoming so unwillingly vulnerable to begin with.

But every moment of frustration toward myself, toward the medical personnel charged with taking care of me, had also served to keep me the hell out of my mind - that alone turned out to be its own unexpected benefit. Over time, I had gone on to demand to wear the surgical scrubs that I was used to, instead of a standard hospital gown. Unsurprisingly, I was outright denied initially, but it wasn't long before I was given what I wanted, and that had proven to be as significant as fighting through my physical therapy - because to me, even just _looking_ less like a patient had brought me closer to regaining autonomy, to feeling less like a victim and more like myself again. It wasn't much, nor would this serve as an effective means of actually dealing with my trauma, what it was doing to me - I wouldn't try to delude myself otherwise. But each small victory _had_ helped to a degree, and that meant something. I tried to view this as another step forward, another step toward normalcy and returning to my own life.

Unfortunately, though - and as much as I'd admittedly been trying to put it off - my doing so had also involved finding out exactly what happened the day I'd been shot in the emergency room, to try and understand what my role in the events and their outcome truly was. Regardless of how daunting that task would certainly be, there came an instant that I realized that I wouldn't be able to move on otherwise, and I honestly didn't want to think about what might happen to me if that happened. Before that point, I had been kept almost entirely in the dark about most of the details of the shooting, as well as everything following it, simply for the sake of my wellbeing and my ability to focus on recovery. And that could've been considered a fair decision for a time at the beginning of all of this, but that particular method of keeping information unspoken couldn't go on indefinitely, and we all knew it. Soon enough, I was going be released from the hospital, and from there, I would no longer be able to hide - either intentionally or otherwise - from the facts that were surrounding this situation.

From what I knew already, the story itself and every subsequent interpretation was still circulating through various news outlets, propelling the debates over gun-control and countering drug addiction and God knows what else, without ever solving any underlying causes, before it just became one of many pieces of data for similar statistics; simply put, the memories or any other representations of the shooting were not going to be fading away any time soon. Moreover, enough time had passed for most of the information to become part of the public record, and that meant it would only be a matter of time before that information made its way to me, especially when considering how closely tied I was to the circumstances. So it was determined - albeit reluctantly - that it was in my best interest to be prepared for anything and everything I might hear. Still, when Nadir and Christine finally came to speak to me about it, I quickly understood why the decision to do so had been delayed - why they were hesitant to speak in more detail than was absolutely necessary. When all was said and done, out of the total number of people that had been attacked, it was easier to count who survived than who was dead - it wasn't a record-breaking mass shooting, but still enough to be considered notable.

"I need to know _all_ of what happened," I said impatiently once Nadir finished giving me a basic synopsis of the event. It was early-evening when we chose to have this conversation, and I was already agitated by that factor alone - I hated that part of the day. Whether I was acting as a surgeon or a patient, there was something about the coming nighttime in hospitals that left me decidedly uneasy, and for a moment I regretted insisting on talking about any of this when I had. But there was no changing what I had set into motion, either, and not being told the whole story was unacceptable - it wasn't enough. Christine was sitting closely next to me on the side of the bed, Nadir hunched tensely in a chair across from us; by then, my feeding tube was gone, the PICC line currently detached from the IV pole, and my ability to move around on my own had improved - not to the point of being entirely painless yet, but that in combination with the other factors that contributed to my freedom meant I could stand up and raise my voice to demand answers, if it came down to it. But still, I didn't _want_ that to happen. So instead, I attempted to explain evenly once more, " _Please_ , I need you to tell me what happened. _Everything_."

Nadir sighed, "Do you think you're _ready_ to hear everything, though?"

"I think that's a loaded question. But I can't just let this go, we both know that."

Another sigh, now of resignation, but just the same he said everything that he was able to then - explained the number of injuries, the number of casualties in greater detail than he had before, now speaking the names of the dead almost reverently. Although I wasn't surprised that he had. Because this wasn't something that we were recounting to one another after hearing an abstract version of it on the news, or something we passed on from overhearing our coworkers talk about it on our way to finish another task. Rather, this specific act of violence was one that was experienced firsthand by everyone in this room, had happened to our own and to the patients we were meant to care for, where we'd worked almost every day for years, and in turn had affected us all in some way or another; it was impossible to ignore those affects when Nadir spoke now - it was impossible to be objective anymore.

"They mostly targeted doctors, and we lost one of our ER residents," Nadir continued slowly, "And Jason Herrera - "

" - The paramedic?"

"Right. You knew him?"

"He was there with me that day. We were both outside when everything happened...he ran into the ER when I did."

"I'm sorry - "

" - Was this all because I agreed to send the drug-seeker out in the first place?" I asked sharply, seemingly out of nowhere yet finally voicing the notion that had been chipping away at my conscience for quite a while by then. I had to know if this was my fault entirely, and so I nearly begged, unsure of _what_ I really wanted to hear, "Did he come back ready to shoot because Moreno and I wouldn't give him the drugs he wanted?"

Nadir hesitated, then, "Getting turned away drove him and his friend back here, yes. But it would've happened whether it was you or anyone else that sent him out. You had no way of knowing it would turn out the way it did, and we've both seen people like that in the past that just throw their fits and leave without more problems. Statistically, the outcome should've been completely different."

"But we had to be the goddamn statistical outliers..." I said miserably, then leaned forward stiffly and put my hand over my mouth, an almost mechanical gesture, but one made in a stunned silence from then on. I couldn't find any further words for this reaction, couldn't describe the storm that was taking place in my thoughts in that instant.

Once again, it occurred to me that I had known all of the people that we'd discussed - I _had_ _known_ _them_ , and the majority of them were dead and gone. I'd been through the sense of unreality I that felt now when I was in the Army, where every death was just another mark on a tally of people that I would never see again. Over time, I'd grown almost numb to it, had gotten too used to being on the receiving end of that kind of news. But even so, that much familiarity with death didn't make it any easier to accept, when I really thought about it. Whether I'd gotten along with the person in question or not didn't matter in the end, because the fact remained that they were dead, and it was painful to have to conceptualize, to have that reminder of mortality and the wasted time leading up to it. Quite frankly, it was disturbing enough then, and more so to experience again now - I'd believed my retirement from my military service had meant leaving that unsettling feeling behind me for good. Having it return to me in Chicago was terrifying.

Christine attempting to get my attention finally broke through the haze in my mind, but it was another handful of seconds before I realized that she'd made that attempt more than once.

"Erik," she repeated, "Talk to me, honey."

And I did so, still thinking about the Army when I asked both of them, yet neither of them at once, "They didn't, ah...No one was alone when they died, right?"

"That's right," Nadir said gently, even solemnly - and with no small amount of bittersweet relief, I knew that he wasn't saying that just for my sake.

I only nodded, then, "What about me? What happened to me?"

"Erik, I'm not sure if - "

" - Just _tell_ _me_."

"Alright. Your heart had stopped - "

" - I already knew that - "

But he held up a hand to stall further interruptions on my part, saying with clearly forced evenness, "It was long enough that you were close to being pronounced."

 _That_ was unexpected, and I asked warily, "How close?"

When Nadir hesitated, Christine said, so softly that I'd almost missed her words, yet even so, they held as much force as they would have if she'd screamed her answer, "Fifteen minutes. Moreno thought it was time to call it, and Nadir asked for fifteen more minutes to keep trying," she continued, and though she looked away from me, she took ahold of my hand and said, "I think the nurse's notes put you responding at thirteen."

What I was hearing now was incredibly overwhelming, and nearly more than I could take in; I had to take a deep breath and clear my throat before I could speak again, "What changed?"

"Patience," Nadir said, "Endurance. Maybe even a fucking miracle, if we get right down to it," he added with a humorless laugh, "It really was a longshot, but it just didn't feel right to stop before then. You almost didn't make it, but - "

" - Stop," I whispered brokenly, "That's it, I need this to stop."

He assented with a slow nod, and although I didn't miss the look of sympathy that he gave me for my reaction, I was completely silent for a time after that. Suddenly, the gravity of everything I had just heard - the undeniable implications that followed everything that they were telling me - became so strong that I'd almost felt like I was going to suffocate under the weight of this new knowledge. In spite of asking to hear this, it seemed that I truly wasn't ready after all. I'd known that my injuries were severe enough to warrant critical care measures to be taken, and I had certainly been afraid before I lost consciousness that I might very well be killed as a result of being shot - but to actually have that fear confirmed now, to hear it justified and then have to face off with the fact that I was _so much_ closer to death than I had realized, was beyond jarring. I'd had close-calls in the past, but never to this extent, never to the point that escaping that fate with my own life intact could be considered anything less than astonishing. Somehow, that factor was nearly as difficult to consider as the overlying circumstances had been for me - almost as unsettling as anything else that I'd learned in the course of this discussion. For several moments following the revelation, I had to very mindfully tell myself to stay calm, to deliberately remember to not lose myself altogether in the steadily rising panic that I was feeling - because honestly, it was _incredibly_ tempting to do so then.

Absently noting that Christine had taken my hand tightly in hers once again, I had just barely acknowledged the contact all the same, only giving her the most minor indication that I had felt her presence there with me at all. And fighting to maintain at least some semblance of composure afterward, I could only shake my head when Nadir softly asked me if I'd wanted or needed to hear anything else from him. At my negative response, he stood up and rested his hand firmly on my shoulder in a gesture of comfort, before graciously excusing himself to leave Christine and I alone to process this together. He had done his part, I knew how difficult that was for him, appreciated what he'd given to me - but I was grateful when he recognized that I had to settle down, and thus had allowed this quiet moment to follow.

"I won't ask you if you're alright, because I know you're not," Christine said when it was just the two of us in the room - and she seemed very near tears when she looked up at me and spoke again, "I just wish I could do something to help."

My response was immediate, though my voice faltered, "Just...don't leave."

She accepted that request rather quickly, somewhat surprising me in the next moment by leaning in closer and capturing my mouth in a firm kiss - one of so many that each of us had been attempting to restore over the time we spent together in this room, sharing in an unspoken fight to repair everything that was shattered before. But as soon as I tried to return that kiss in equal measure, I'd somehow managed to move too sharply in the process, and the resulting pain in my chest and my strangled cry broke us apart in an instant. Unable to speak when she asked me what was wrong, asked what she could do, I just closed my eyes tightly against that pain, balled my hands into fists in the fabric of my scrubs to wait it out. But even so, it resonated for several moments before I felt like I could breathe evenly again, distantly aware of the fact that Christine had carefully rested her hands on my sides to help me regain some stability. When I'd finally felt ready to open my eyes again, a part of me was almost furious to realize that this would be my new normal until I was fully recovered; I absolutely hated that, as much as I hated everything else about this traumatic and devastating situation.

Any lingering pain I felt from then on would only serve as another harsh reminder of everything that had happened - there was no escaping it, and that truth was exceedingly bitter.


	30. Drowning Lessons

**Author's Note:** _The title for this chapter comes from the My Chemical Romance Song of the same name. Thank you all for reading, and enjoy!_

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Chapter 23 - Drowning Lessons

Erik

Near the end of my stay in recovery - or so I'd been informed was near the end - and once her emergency leave ran out, Christine needed to request a day off from work in order to go to her first official prenatal appointment. She was able to get the time off she'd asked for, but only barely - and she later confided in me that she'd almost let the task slip her mind altogether, until it was close to being too late to take a day off without causing trouble for herself. As she'd explained, she simply had too much happening all at once to be able to keep track of even the most important details, attributing a fair amount of that forgetfulness to what she fondly decided was pregnancy brain. To hear her say that was incredibly endearing for me, and I recall smiling in response to her phrasing, to the reason behind it. So much changed for us in the span of just a few weeks. At one point before the fact, we'd both offhandedly mentioned that it seemed as if an entire lifetime had already passed since the first clinic visit that she'd gone to alone, and this upcoming appointment; it was also one that I was sorely regretting having to miss, even as my ability to make that regret known to her had turned out to be an obstacle.

Though we still hadn't discussed the possibility of anything concrete resuming between us - let alone much about the baby at all, beyond questions of its wellbeing - we were nowhere near acting as if we were completely separated as a couple, either. We'd yet to say whether the relationship was reestablished or dissolved, nor had we even really delved into the source of the discord that severed the bond to begin with. Christine was obviously treading lightly where that aspect of our recent past was concerned, and my continued silence wasn't helping matters. But still, so much _was_ restored for us all the same, just short of spoken affirmations. And as such, I wanted to make sure that my stance on continuing to move forward in that way was absolutely clear. We _had_ to resolve these issues, one way or another - if not for ourselves, then at least for the sake of our child being able to see us functioning and healthy together.

Actually broaching the subject, however, simply hadn't happened yet, nor did I know how to bring it up again on my own. As it stood, I'd already begun to feel that I was running out of time to do so; it didn't matter if that feeling was founded in reality or not. In my stress-addled mind, the longer we spent living side-by-side in this relational purgatory, the more I sincerely worried that it would become our long-lasting arrangement, irreversible and intolerable in my eyes. Regardless of anything that had happened, I didn't want us to come out of this conflict only as ships passing in the night - I didn't want everything we built over the time since we fell in love to be shattered in as many moments. But Christine was hurt, and in turn became doubtful about the stability of our relationship, and so I had to repair the fissure that I created - I needed to undo all of the damage that I'd done with my extremely poor reaction to the baby, because I sure as hell wasn't willing to stand idly by and make it possible to hurt her that way again. I knew better than that.

Lying restlessly on my hospital bed - and attempting all the while to find a way to do so without further aggravating still-healing surgical scars - I made a genuine effort to settle myself down and make some kind of sense of the thoughts flying uselessly around my head. For the most part, though, I'd only succeeded in making myself that much more miserable, had thought of ten more undesirable outcomes for every one or two hurdles I talked myself into clearing.

Rolling my eyes and deciding that I was growing more neurotic with the years, I took a long, deep breath and tried once again to concentrate on the immediate future and nothing else. Namely, that Christine was hearing the baby's heartbeat that day - she was seeing its image for the first time - and I wanted so badly to be there with her for that moment. But before I realized the path my thoughts had taken, guilt and shame flooded me when I considered the milestone I was missing, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that this wasn't the first time I'd let that guilt become too powerful to ignore - yet even so, a part of me had still managed to believe that I deserved to miss every momentous occasion that surrounded the baby from then on. I almost had anyway - whether that happened as a result of a fatal injury or my willful abandonment was irrelevant - and it felt impossible now to move forward with that knowledge always dragging behind me. Between those issues and the steady onset of survivor's guilt - a reaction that I'd been forcefully trying to deny since the night I'd spoken to Nadir about the shooting - I began to wonder how long it would be until I drove myself completely insane. At the rate I was going, probably not long at all.

Mercifully ignorant to everything my mind was doing to me at the time, Christine returned from her appointment to visit with me for a while, until she would have to leave again to check in with Dr. Tavade and start her afternoon shift. As soon as she walked into my room, I noticed that she carried a printout of her sonogram - but before I could fully process that detail, she'd handed it to me immediately upon stepping up to my bedside, barely allowing me a chance to sit upright before she began to talk to me about her appointment. In the next moment, and once I'd eased my legs over the side of the bed and was sitting all the way up again, she had already taken her self-appointed place beside me, leaning her head contentedly on my shoulder while she pointed out the notable parts of the black and white picture I now held.

"Everything's going really well," she said lightly, and the joy I heard in her voice then was undeniable as she continued, "Strong heartbeat, the size is right. Everything's normal."

"Good," I said slowly, giving a delayed response to her words as I looked at the printed image in my hands, knowing exactly what I saw, yet unable to comprehend it entirely. As much as this baby had been on my mind, holding the evidence of its existence was significantly more impactful than the distant concept that I had before; I couldn't even imagine how that first glance must have felt to Christine, so I just murmured, lost for words and completely unwilling to tear my eyes away from the sonogram printout, "That's great. That's…That's excellent…"

"We can find out the sex in the next couple of visits, it's too early now. Obviously. You know that," she said, and laughed with a nervous energy that somehow made me love her that much more, and then she went on to chatter excitedly, "But anyway, the ultrasound tech asked me if I want it to be a surprise, to wait 'til the baby's born. I actually don't want that, though. I'd rather find out as soon as possible."

Lying back stiffly against the raised head of the bed, and pulling Christine down with me, I asked, "Do you think you'd rather have a boy, or a girl?"

That question seemed to catch her off-guard, and she turned to face me more directly, almost studying me - I was fairly certain that she was looking for sincerity in my eyes before answering, "I don't know yet, it changes every day. Sometimes I want a boy, then I want a girl."

"I want a girl," I said slowly, once again drawing a look of surprise into her expression, so I shrugged with feigned casualness and explained, "I just think I'd like a daughter."

A pause, then, "That somewhat implies that you want to be involved now."

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to speak my response clearly, before I lost what I had very loosely considered to be courage, "I _do_ want to be involved, Christine..."

She nodded, though her voice was apprehensive, almost brittle in a way that betrayed the unease that she'd begun to feel at this shift in the conversation, "What changed your mind? You were pretty, ah... _adamant_ before about stepping back."

The hidden accusation in her words had hurt, but I'd honestly expected as much from her. Because it was an entirely reasonable reaction to my so suddenly - at least as far as she knew - announcing that I wanted to raise the child I'd otherwise recently abandoned. Before my major shift in perspective had taken place during the aftermath of the shooting, Christine and I were likely facing a painful breakup, and I'd all but demanded that I remain an absentee father to our baby, and nothing more; I'd convinced myself that running was for the best when it clearly wasn't, and that decision came with more consequences than I had initially anticipated. Anyone could easily assume that my change of heart had everything to do with the situation, rather than my choice being born of any real desire to establish myself in this little family, to sincerely take care of the woman I loved and the child she was carrying. Christine had every right to believe that a near-death experience would be enough to sway my decision, rather than it taking place on its own. In the end, I didn't know how to convince her otherwise, beyond just telling the truth and praying that she'd come to believe me.

It was incredibly inelegant, but I had no idea of how to articulate exactly what happened to me between that fight and this moment. But still, she had to know as much as I could tell her, convoluted though my thoughts were.

"There was a lot that changed my mind - "

" - _When_ , though? When did you change your mind?"

"It wasn't because of what happened," I insisted, feeling defensive and knowing exactly where her line of questioning was headed, but then amended, "That wasn't the only reason."

"It makes a difference."

"I _know_ _that_ , babe. I know that...But I don't want you to mistake my motivation, alright? Because I would've wanted this anyway."

"Regardless of what happened?"

" _Yes_."

"But - "

" - I reacted badly. But I never meant what I said. I wasn't thinking straight, nothing else."

"Alright," she said slowly, damn near outright carefully, "I can understand that."

I sighed, "But does that mean you'll let me stay and raise the baby?"

"I never wanted you out of the baby's life, Erik. That was _your_ decision."

"Right…" I muttered remorsefully, once again unable to properly speak to everything that had been on my mind, but making any attempt that I could just the same, "But then...what about us? What about you and me? I know you're still upset, but where do we go from here?"

She didn't say anything to that, nor did she reply entirely to anything I said over the past several moments - but when she did raise her voice to speak again, she only said softly, if not a bit helplessly, "As far as you and I are concerned...we don't have to set anything in stone right now. I don't think we're ready yet. So, just worry about recovering first, and - "

" - Christine, please don't - " I began quickly, desperately. But before I could even _try_ to attempt encouraging this discussion to continue, she kissed me hard on the mouth and stood up, the gesture too closely resembling the way that I'd parted from her the morning she took the first pregnancy test, the last morning we had together before everything went all to hell. And that resemblance was incredibly unnerving, regardless of whether or not she'd created it on purpose.

"Everything's going to be fine," she said, pushing the sonogram picture - nearly forgotten by then - more securely into my grasp, "Here, you keep this one, I have another," then repeated firmly before she left to start her shift, "Everything is going to be fine, Erik. I'll see you tonight."

My heart sank when she disappeared from the room in the next instant. Reassurances for my sake were all well and good in theory, but in practice, they didn't quite have the desired effect I was sure she'd been looking for; just saying we'd be _fine_ didn't exactly mean anything was starting to be fully repaired, either. Nowhere even close to it, in fact - and that hurt, and I was admittedly bitter about it all...and I knew that I only had myself to blame.

~~oOo~~

After grudgingly participating in physical therapy one morning a few days before I was scheduled to be released, I slowly meandered back to my recovery room - though that limited pace obviously hadn't been my intention. But from the outset, I'd absolutely refused to depend on the support of a walker to be able to get around by myself, nor the wall railings that lined the hallways for this exact purpose. Because like my demand to wear scrubs while in the hospital had felt incredibly important to regaining my sense of self, so was my need to continue asserting relative independence by walking more or less on my own. So in the end, and barring becoming a liability in my own department, the only acceptable compromise left to me - and one admittedly born of mingled necessity and stubbornness - had been that I just take my time whenever I was going from one place to another. If I absolutely _had_ to insist on risking a bad fall and the potential for resulting injury, then the least I could do would be to take as many preventative measures as possible through the process. Relying only on the IV pole that I had to bring for pain meds would be useless if I _did_ wind up losing my balance - but if nothing else, it had proven helpful by giving me a false sense of stability as I walked, so I counted that as a small victory in itself.

Along the way, I noted that I'd received more than one curious glance in my direction from several of the other patients, as well as their visitors - but while the glances my way were annoying, I knew their curiosity was likely only because of what I was wearing, in combination with also clearly being medicated through the PICC line in my arm. Yet despite that unwanted attention, I was simply grateful to no longer be confined to my bed. During the earliest stages of recovering from the shooting, I'd hated feeling so helpless, so at the mercy of the circumstances that were well beyond my control. The moment I was free from the chest tube, from the NG tube and every other uncomfortable and invasive treatment, I'd wanted more than anything just to get myself feeling the hell back to normal - even if regaining each and every last aspect of normalcy took time. From a strictly medical standpoint, my overall recovery was progressing exactly as it was supposed to; but though I was without complications or setbacks, I also remained as weak as was expected with the nature of my injuries, and I still experienced the same amount of pain more often than not now as I had at the beginning. Those were among the lingering restrictions I needed to accept, but altogether, what I had _was_ better than nothing; I had to remember that.

Even so, I couldn't always be patient - neither with myself, nor with the world at large - and that rather pessimistic outlook was especially apparent that morning. By the time I'd finally returned to my room, I was sore and upset and exhausted, and I decided on my way that I really just wanted to go back to sleep and stay asleep indefinitely. To my immense relief, Christine was already settled down in the room waiting for me to come back, and once I entered the space and sat on the bed - once I'd seen that she recognized my weariness - I wordlessly asked her to lay beside me. Quickly agreeing and smiling as she did so, she positioned herself next to me with slow and easy gestures, still with little choice than to be mindful of my partially-recovered body. The physical contact, the inherent pressure of her resting against me was painful in spite of how carefully she'd moved, simply because my injuries were what they were. But even so, I couldn't ask her to stop, because I didn't want my pain to become another barrier separating us - to me, she was an incredible source of comfort, and I didn't want her to think that she'd needed to keep her distance. It might have been selfish to think that way to begin with, but I didn't care; I couldn't handle being apart from her for longer than was necessary. As it stood, we already had enough of a bridge to gap without finding any more ways to add to the problem.

Communication between the two of us was still precarious at best, and that fact alone bothered me more than I could describe. Because, yes, she came back when I'd been shot - even after we'd fallen out so badly, she came when I'd needed her most - yet so much hadn't been mended about our relationship once the dust from the shooting eventually cleared. We hadn't made further decisions about our roles with the baby, nor had we discussed any more about what our relationship should reasonably be defined as anymore. It was as if she'd found herself at as great a loss of guidance as I had, and therefore we were both essentially rendered mute by that loss. Yet she also stayed with me even now, willingly sharing time in my company; on the surface, I really had no reason to doubt that she would continue finding ways to have us stay together going forward.

Still, there were moments like this that I felt hope, and a hope at its strongest when she leaned in close in the same instant that she lay down beside me; before I'd comprehended what was happening entirely, she was kissing me, carefully winding her arms over my shoulders and urging me in the same breath to hold her in my own arms as well. It didn't take long to comply, to return that sudden kiss, and for an immeasurable span of time, only the two of us existed in the world; because of her kindness, the guilt of our conflict and the mental anguish of facing my own mortality had faded, even if it only faded for now. That singular connection between us - the bond that we'd forged in spite of our unsteady relationship - bound my heart back together...but then broke it again all at once. Regardless of what I wanted, this kiss didn't guarantee closure.

We were silent when we'd parted once again, each of us seemingly unable to find the words that might help us to learn to carry on - to even begin to try. As painful as it was for me to admit, I truly didn't know how to cross the expanse that divided us, the expanse that I alone had created. I only knew that if I'd still lost her even after everything we'd been through, then it would be my fault. Because I'd misspoken one too many times, had so recklessly allowed all the worst parts of myself take control too often to ensure that we could repair this again as we had before. I had to right whatsoever to expect our reconciliation to come about easily, nor nearly as soon as I would've hoped. So instead, I just resigned myself to living with this - and that resignation became my existence for the foreseeable future.

~~oOo~~

It's only when we're sure that the patient won't die when left to their own devices that we send them home. After the time spent recovering that I would sincerely have preferred to forget, I'd finally arrived at that point myself - on paper, though I wasn't _fully_ healed, I wasn't quite ready to kick off any longer, either. And that was enough progress in Dr. Reyes' eyes, as well as of the standards set up by even the better medical insurance companies. So, when it was determined that I had at least met those standards in order to safely leave the hospital and go home, I didn't hesitate for a moment to accept my aftercare instructions and go through the tedious discharge process. From there, Christine offered to stay with me as long as it took to get back on my feet again, and I accepted the offer immediately. I was sincerely grateful for her to make that choice for my sake - even though I suspected that she'd wanted to keep an eye on my state of mind as much as my wellbeing - and although it was a longer commute to work in Chicago for her, she'd insisted that my house was the more practical option just the same. And really, I had to agree with that assessment in the end; it was familiar in a way that I had silently hoped might help to lessen my anxiety, and it was more accessible with fewer stairs than her apartment.

Getting home, however - despite how beyond ready I was to finally get away from the hospital - was its own brand of torture. More than once during the drive to Schaumburg, a bump or a patch of damaged road would jostle me in the passenger seat. Each time that happened, I'd attempted to not react badly to the pain in my chest, and each time I failed in those attempts.

" _Fuck_ ," I hissed after one particularly violent lurch forward, clutching at the handle affixed to the car's roof so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

"I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, honey," Christine said fervently, distressed and obviously feeling guilty as she grasped my free hand, "I know it's bad, I'm trying to avoid these."

"It's not your fault," I said tensely, hoping she'd be convinced, "Just keep going."

Sighing, she nodded, but said nothing more, and the rest of the trip was spent without any additional words passed between us.

The house was already darkened by the approaching sunset of late-autumn, and eerily silent when we walked through the front door. Its long disuse was apparent, and it was incredibly surreal to consider exactly how long I'd been away. The last time I was there, I had expected to come home again the same night without incident; when I left for work that day so many weeks ago, my only substantial concern had been over Christine and the baby, over my incompetence and everything I'd done to cause more problems for the situation. I had no idea that I'd actually get shot, that I would end up in the SICU after nearly bleeding to death. Obviously, I didn't like to think about any of it for long. Thus far, attempting to sift through the haze of my memories from that day, doing so if only for the _chance_ of finding meaning from the experience, hadn't done me any good. Shuddering at the notion while I hovered at the threshold of the living room - unable to remember _when_ I'd even gotten there, yet hesitating to move forward - I fought to force those memories out of my mind, ideally casting them away forever. Though _that_ was asking a lot.

Nothing was helping either way; I was too traumatized for that to happen, and still too unwilling to find any acceptable outlets for that trauma. Lingering images of everything I'd gone through, of everything that I'd witnessed remained too vivid in my mind's eye by then to ignore, or even to try to _somewhat_ understand. If nothing else, I knew that if I didn't learn to control them somehow, and very soon, then they would steadily destroy me. Still, actually gaining any sense control would certainly prove to be more difficult in practice than only realizing that I'd needed to in the first place. Home again now, I didn't even know where to begin, to be honest - and that, to my dismay, was yet another aspect of my life that I couldn't rein in by myself.

Thankfully unaware of my rising discomfort, Christine gently laid her hand on my arm to coax me further into the living room, and once I had gotten over the initial moment of shock from the unexpected contact, I absentmindedly followed her silent request.

Her well-intentioned determination to get me to sit down and stay there was wise, and despite my hectic thoughts, at the very least I knew that I needed to do as requested. All of my energy - or what little of it there was to begin with, at any rate - had been lost almost entirely on the way home. By the time we were inside the house and starting to prepare to settle in for the night, I felt the unmistakable effects of my weariness more the longer I'd stayed upright without taking a break. Even just _thinking_ about standing up felt like a challenge; a stubborn part of me wanted to roll my eyes at my own weakness, distantly wondering whether it was my thoroughly wounded pride or my most recent dose of painkillers that had caused such an absurd reaction in me. Sighing, I realized that the source of my annoyance didn't really matter - I felt like hell, I was stressed out and miserable, and none of that would be changing any time soon. So, I made my way to the couch and moved to lay down carefully, feeling the twinges of pain indicating that I'd overexerted myself as I did so. I knew that it would take a fairly large amount of time before the soreness of a recently-opened chest would fade altogether, and in the meantime, I could only tolerate it until I was healed entirely.

"Can I get you anything?" Christine asked, moving purposefully around the room as she spoke, and seeing to a few of the various inconsequential tasks left over from her earlier trip out. Before I left the hospital, she'd come out to Schaumburg and had taken care of everything that the house needed in preparation for my later return, and then some - every detail was managed, down to calling Gene to update him again about how I was doing, to bringing Rex home from his stay with Nadir, to remembering to put the dog's service vest on to prevent him from jumping on me when I walked into the house for the first time. There were things that I wouldn't have minded handling myself at a later point, but the more important undertakings were admittedly somewhat beyond my ability to cope with for the time being.

Calling my grandfather, for instance, was one I'd dreaded, simply because his concern made me feel immensely guilty - although the fact that he also felt compelled to inform my father of every new piece of information following the shooting hadn't appealed to me much. By Gene's logic, Nick would've been slighted if he heard about what happened to me from a third-party, and so preventing the insult and potential for petty retaliation was in our best interest. And while I'd agreed with my grandfather on that point, that didn't necessarily mean I was thrilled by the idea that my father knew anything about what happened recently, either. So Christine had graciously taken up the communication herself, saving me the headache of navigating between my family members - estranged or otherwise.

"A good, stiff drink," I replied to her considerate question, but when she rolled her eyes in response - albeit goodnaturedly - I amended dryly, "I'm mostly kidding, sweetheart. I'd rather just go back to sleep," I sighed, then reached out to her, "Come lay with me?"

In answer, she smiled sadly at my weariness and took my hand when she approached, curling up beside me on the couch in the next moment and lying there with me again as she had so often while I was still in the hospital - as we had during the cold evenings in the past when all we'd wanted from one another was to share space in the darkness. My eyes closed now before I'd even realized what I was doing, and I was quickly, if not mercifully relaxed enough to begin falling asleep, very likely giving myself over to that state for the remainder of the night. But even so, even in the face of my continued exhaustion, I'd still flinched awake upon being startled back to reality by some far-off noise, the jolt of awareness an immediate reaction that could be easily explained by so many recent nightmares, but one that left me no less unsettled just the same.

Christine seemed to sense the reason behind my abrupt and fearful movement, and promptly calmed me down as she whispered, "You're safe now, Erik. Don't worry, you're safe."

And I'd just nodded, feeling - if only for that instant - that the peace I finally gained would last. On the brink of sleep once again, I responded with a murmured, "Thank you for staying."

~~oOo~~

Whether I was ready or not, life went on - Christine continued her shifts at the hospital, and though I found the idea of her going back alone and pregnant to be absolutely terrifying from the start, there wasn't much to be done about that necessity. She was still in her internship, and still relatively early in the assignment at that. No matter what happened in our personal lives, she _had_ to continue on with her education - even though a part of me could understand that it wasn't warranted, I'd honestly spent far too much time blaming myself for any delays she might've had to cope with already, and if I could say anything on that point with certainty, then it would be that she deserved every opportunity to shine, to excel. I wasn't going to let my fears hold her back. On the other hand, I had essentially done exactly that for myself.

Initially, I was offered an extended leave of absence from work in surgery - given mainly to allow me time to handle the rest of my rehab, although mental recuperation was alluded to as well - and I took the chance to stay away without a second thought. I knew that I couldn't cope with going back to work at the same hospital where my life almost ended - not yet. By all logic, I should've used my time off in order to return to therapy, I should've made an effort to unburden myself with each and every one of the resources that I had available. Instead, I'd mistakenly led myself to keep believing that my silence alone was tantamount to my recovery - I fell into such a deep state of denial that I was content enough to talk to Christine or Nadir if I'd felt more anxious than usual, but I largely kept it at that. Rather than reaching out any further, I'd just decided that if I wasn't _constantly_ lost in some sort of exaggerated PTSD episode, and considering the fact that I'd thus far stayed sober in spite of my mounting distress, then it stood to reason that I didn't need to find outside help at all - not with the urgency that I was dismissing, anyway.

Nothing would be resolved overnight - I _clearly_ wasn't so naive as to assume anything like that - but this was too stalled just the same. By virtue of the years spent in my profession, I knew what had to be involved with an ideal recovery after the patient has been released from the hospital - and therefore, I also knew that I'd fallen behind many of those expectations, because I was well aware of just how long it would've ordinarily taken to begin feeling like myself again. In a physical sense, I was doing fairly well. Otherwise, I was nowhere near where I should've been; I was simply treading water mentally, and never in a way that made me believe that I would get past the setback any time soon. I needed help, but I wouldn't seek it out.

My failure in doing so, once again, had only weakened my already-brittle judgment, and made me that much more vulnerable to myself.

Perhaps the worst display of that vulnerability had occurred several weeks after I was sent home, just around the time I'd been given an appointment for a psychological evaluation meant to determine if I would be ready to return to work after the new year. Frankly, though, I'd somewhat doubted that readiness, and for good reason; so, I'd decided immediately after taking the appointment with the hospital's risk management office that - for the first time in my adult life - I wouldn't cop out or try to skirt the more upsetting topics that would inevitably come up during the course of the evaluation. If I truly couldn't return to my job because of the as-yet unresolved effects of my trauma, then I didn't want to pretend that reality was otherwise. It wouldn't be safe for the patients that entered my OR after the fact, and as such, I knew that it wouldn't be ethical to even try. But before any of that happened, first and foremost I just needed to _function_ , so I'd kept with the routine that Christine and I had established since she'd started staying with me in Schaumburg. That in itself was as much progress as I could hope for, at least short of outright demanding that we approach _that_ complicated discussion again - she considered herself more or less my live-in girlfriend now, better off than we were at the start of her pregnancy.

That was essentially how we found ourselves on the day I had one of the most intense panic attacks that followed my release from the hospital; I offered to drive Christine to Chicago for her shift that morning, for little other reason than to get away from the suburbs for a while, and to spend a bit more time together than we might have gotten otherwise. Up until then, and though she and I were coexisting as well as could be expected, we had also remained lost in a stubborn impasse between the roles of parenthood and partnership - by then, we never really had broken up, were unwilling to abandon one another or our new responsibilities, and yet we still hadn't allowed ourselves to progress beyond those strict parameters, either. The state of uncertainty we shared became as difficult to accept as any of the other circumstances that we'd faced. Honestly, I felt no less overwhelmed now than I had at the beginning, adrift in completely unfamiliar territory for the both of us. That was exactly what I'd been so afraid would happen to our relationship, and I resented getting to this point - especially when I'd been so adamant about avoiding this outcome from the start. It was frustrating, and I thought about our situation often.

But as I got ready for the day in question, ready to drive to the city and back, my mind slowly wandered off to darker places than I would usually permit - ultimately, that carelessness was my undoing, the factor set in place that brought me from overwhelmed to actual collapse. It had happened suddenly, so much so that I barely remember losing myself - only that the sound of Christine's voice speaking to me from nearby as I stood before the mirror in our bedroom had faded to a distant ringing, pulled to the background as I stared at my reflection. Soon enough, I couldn't concentrate on what was actually happening around me.

Some people go through a near-death experience and can ultimately find the ability to draw strength from whatever had happened to them, rather than allowing it to take over, to grow destructive - there are people that can spend the entirety of their recovery feeling encouraged by the notion that survival was always meant as a reminder to stay optimistic, that something more was left beyond the pain and the fear of the past. For my part, however, I had steadily felt almost paralyzed by my own recent brush with death, unsure of just how to accept it once and for all, or to carry on gratefully with the second-chances that I'd been given. Even in spite of my sincerest efforts to at least _try_ , the situation as it stood was too overwhelming to gain any real semblance of comfort. In so many ways, I still couldn't forget any of it long enough to find that comfort, and even after time had passed and I'd settled down at home again, I couldn't bring myself to speak the words that might finally begin to save me from that burden, either; I couldn't give voice to my turmoil - certainly not in any meaningful way - or find the right words within me, nor was it likely that I'd ever be able to convey them properly even if they were found. I had faced off with my mortality before - had even _invited_ it once upon a time - but this…

This situation was strikingly different from any that I'd ever gone through. The absolute loss of control over the outcome of my own life, the feeling of having my freedom stripped from me in a matter of seconds by those bullets, and having to realize that my mistakes were coming into light in sharp relief as one of so many consequences of the shooting - it was all too much on its own to handle, nevermind in combination with everything else that preceded the event. I had very nearly died, and I never knew exactly what saved me in the end - but moreover, I knew that being saved almost _hadn't_ been a possibility for me at all. The fact that I was standing in my own home now was almost impossible; there were people that had been shot alongside me that died because of their injuries, and yet _I'd_ been able to make it out alive. But _for_ _what_? There seemed to be no adequate answer, and I couldn't help wondering if I'd actually deserved this life, or if this had all been a mistake. In those moments of pure shame and anxiety, it truly didn't make sense to me that I would, or _should_ be one of the survivors; I couldn't reconcile with any of it, couldn't stop treading down that path in my mind once I'd set out on remembering, even though every step burned me alive.

Realizing how caught up in my silence I'd become, I closed my eyes and shook my head slowly, just concentrating on the movement, on a deliberate gesture made to attempt to refocus my attention back to the present - back to Christine telling me what she'd be working on that day, to Rex dozing in the hall, to _anything_ else. But when I'd opened my eyes again, when I saw myself in the mirror once more, my shirt still partially unbuttoned and my hands noticeably shaking, I froze entirely. Because when I looked, I could only focus on my scars, each one of them somehow more vivid in this instant than I'd remembered them to be. With a sense of mingled disgust and morbid fascination, I'd noted the newer scars left behind from the shooting, and the emergency surgery to follow it, scars still red against my pale skin, the blackbird tattoo torn and damaged - I noted the burns that flared out from my side, the severe damage that had never healed properly and that could never be erased, and the slash of the belt-noose across my neck. Each and every mark that was on my body seemed to be a testament to what I'd been through - or, perhaps, a mockery of waking up to see another day.

With that thought, I jumped back from those images as if I'd been shocked.


	31. Under Pressure

**Author's Note:** _Hello again, everyone! On we go, so please let me know what you think. The title for this chapter comes from the Queen song of the same name, and I also highly recommend the cover by The Used and My Chemical Romance. Enjoy!_

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Chapter 24 - Under Pressure

Erik

During the blinding, distinctly terrifying instant that defines almost every anxiety attack I've had since first developing the disorder, I think that I'd actually tried hitting the mirror, though luckily it didn't break; but in doing so, I believe that I was attempting to regain a small amount of control over what was unfolding in my mind, and by any means necessary, once the sense of dread I felt when staring into my reflection just became too much for me to handle on my own. While I struck outward, I'd heard myself crying out - a sharp, yet strangely distant sound that was immediately lost to me as I began coming to grips with the fact that something was _very_ wrong then, certainly enough so to have made me lash out as aggressively and unexpectedly as I had in the first place. In the moments following the initial breakdown, I had felt that blindness abate to an extent, yet I'd still felt almost entirely incapacitated, unable to move from where I had remained standing all the while, and only dimly aware of Rex nudging me, obviously sensing the panic attack long before I was even aware that it was happening myself.

Finally, as I started returning to my senses that much more definitively - as I realized that the once-unsteady room had stilled around me - I felt Christine's hand firmly on my shoulder, her objectively brave gesture insistent on pulling my full attention back to her, back to this room and to this beat of the present and _only_ _the_ _present_. She knew me well - and therefore, she knew just how easy it was for me to lose myself in the past, how unreasonably difficult it was for me to find my way home once I'd gone down that dark road. Seeing her beside me then, seeing her able to read me like no one else could, I was _so_ _grateful_ that she had come to know me so well. Noting how badly I was shaking, when I'd turned around to face her directly again, an unmistakable fear in her eyes shone back at me, and at that sight - at the notion of how much she was helping me - I immediately felt guilty that I'd obviously scared her in these last moments. Yet even so, even in spite of how unnerved she must have been by my sudden outburst, she held onto me, led me away from the dresser - namely, from the mirror above it - before urging me to sit down with her on the ottoman at the foot of the bed as she spoke all of the usual reassurances to me.

Initially though, her voice was only a consistent rhythm beside me, absent of true words or meaning, simply because I was still so agitated - and it was another handful of minutes before I could hear and comprehend her asking, "Erik, what's wrong?"

The concern that so clearly painted her tone absolutely broke my heart - overwhelmed and unsettled, I couldn't stand it. Everything I'd loved about her, every single hint of compassion that she extended to me had wholly and unreasonably shattered me then and there, forcing what little control that I'd gained over my anxiety in the previous instant to fade away once more, and leaving behind only guilt and grief and fear. None of which I could quantify, none of which I could even begin to describe or properly explain to her - perhaps when I'd needed to the most. If I was being even remotely reasonable, at least I knew, if nothing else, that I needed her to understand what I could barely say - what I could barely formulate in my _own_ mind, let alone share - but still, knowing that much didn't do me any good in the end. I couldn't just come out and _speak_ , I didn't know how; and I felt so incredibly lost when I came to that conclusion.

So, hopeless and unsure of exactly what else _to_ do then, I just looked at Christine sitting beside me, meeting her gaze as steadily as she'd returned mine, until her image was changed and obscured by the tears that I hadn't realized were falling until it was too late to prevent them. Suddenly, I couldn't bring myself to deny them anymore, to find the strength - or maybe only the absence of terror - within myself to stay silent on that front, even if I _had_ thought to try. Not when that silence had only served to harm me thus far, to harm everyone I cared about by default.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry, Christine..." I said defeatedly, leaning forward and holding my head in my hands, the gesture proving to be another desperate attempt to regain my composure - an attempt made for her sake as much as my own. Shaking my head wearily, I felt a sob catch in my throat before I could think to keep it away, and I quickly tried to bite it back, to keep myself from falling apart once more. Still trembling nearly as much as I had been at the beginning of this mess, I closed my eyes, clenching my hands into fists on either side of my head with the effort.

After a moment - one seemingly taken in order to collect herself again, as I'd needed to for myself - Christine had moved to match my rigid posture, wrapping her arms around me and murmuring softly, almost placatingly, "Take a breath, honey. Everything's alright - "

" - Everything's _not_ alright - "

" - _Yes_ it is, settle down. You just had an anxiety attack, right? Tell me what happened."

Pulling back to look at her once more, and straightening up slightly in response to her words, I could only sigh in return - the exhalation wavering in the air - before I closed my eyes again and tried to do as I was told, tried to explain myself as she'd asked. I knew that she was trying to ground me back in reality, to talk me down from the edge of panic, but in the end, even that considerably reasonable effort on her part was almost entirely ineffective. Rather than being able to listen and focus, instead I'd just gotten too upset for anything that she'd suggested to be helpful, too distressed to forget the lingering truth of what had upset me so much to begin with.

Survivor's guilt is a terrible thing to experience, a consuming and insistent entity, even though its presence is always unwarranted - difficult as it may be for the sufferer to believe. By not facing it head-on, and certainly by not doing so sooner, I'd fallen victim to its hold in my mind. I was well aware of _that_ , aware that I had allowed it to happen in spite of knowing better, and that lapse in my judgment was disheartening. Moreover, beyond the overlying guilt that accompanied having to remember the people that hadn't survived the shooting - and when I sincerely couldn't understand why I had, at least not then - I also needed to acknowledge the guilt that followed my own role in the argument that had originally led Christine and I to be so at odds now, what was the definite turning point that caused this distance to form between us. What we were going through now in our relationship was my fault, plain and simple. Pair all of that chaos with what _could_ have happened to me after I'd been shot, the undeniable fact that I'd almost died that day, and each disturbing quality of the circumstances steadily chipped away at my self-control, until I just couldn't hold myself together in silence any longer. Mingled regret and horror had invaded my mind all at once, in the wake of the realization of everything that I'd almost lost, of everything I'd been so willing to escape, and I couldn't handle it.

Because if I _had_ succumbed to my injuries, then that meant I would've left Christine and our child behind, and I would've done so after breaking Christine's heart, and destroying her faith in me, and walking out on her - we'd never had a real chance to make amends, and that thought, among so many others, had unsettled me as thoroughly as the fight itself. Quite frankly, by then I'd convinced myself that I hadn't deserved for her to come back at all, nevermind staying with me once the dust settled and I was sent home. Yet she was _still_ _here_ , right here with me. She hadn't forgiven me entirely, nor did I expect her to any time soon, but _she had stayed_.

Facing that - and in light of the readiness or appearance of her forgiveness - I still couldn't forgive myself for everything that I'd done; regardless of how _absurdly_ inappropriate it was for me to dwell on now, all things considered, I couldn't set aside the larger issues we were fighting through in the first place, either. My concerns of the status of our relationship at present, of what might happen to our family always existed somewhere in my mind, whether consciously or unconsciously - it depended on how much room I gave them to grow, but they'd grated at me all the same. As far as I was concerned, our problems _should_ have been long-since buried altogether. Ideally, we should've instead made sure to focus our time and energy on preparing for our future, for the baby, for everything we'd hoped to do before it all went wrong. I wanted to have _that_ life back, wanted to reverse the clock and to do everything over again - but no matter how much I wanted to, in reality I had no idea how to fix any of this, and it hurt to keep recalling that. I wished I could just tell her how desperately I wanted my intentions to last beyond these moments, that I would always mean _forever_ when I asked her to stay with me.

But then...how could she believe anything I'd said on that subject anymore? I couldn't honestly expect her to just forget the past entirely and take what I felt to heart in the next second - if that was ever even a possibility before, it sure as hell wasn't now. For me to say that this was complicated would be an outright lie. Every move that we'd attempted to make from then on was tentative, and I hated it. Yet while I'd known early on that employing this sense of caution was an important way for Christine to take ahold of her peace of mind once more, I'd also known that if I hadn't panicked about the baby from the start, or at the _very_ least hadn't acted so thoughtlessly toward her before the shooting, then this level of disconnection and wariness would never have become a concern for us to begin with. At the end of the day, I really didn't _have_ to worry about whether or not she knew how much I loved her, because she understood that I'd never stopped - but at the same time, I needed to own up to the fact that I'd severed the band of trust that we'd formerly shared. It was significantly altered - if it wasn't, then she would already be wearing my ring, she'd be planning to take my name and help build our future the way we'd once wanted.

More than anything then, I just wanted to take back everything that I did wrong and move forward. And desperation, it seemed, was my only ally if I hoped to repair what I'd damaged.

"We should get married," I said suddenly, and without ever actually explaining what had caused my panic attack and every reflection that followed it, barely pausing to really think about what I was saying - about the fact that I was essentially _proposing_ to her then and there, and in the worst way. And so, unsurprisingly and without me comprehending the meaning behind her gesture, in response she only gave me a sad smile for my efforts. Yet I _still_ continued in a rush, "Please, we should do this...I love you so much, Christine. I'll make everything up to you, I swear. I _never_ should've tried to give up. Please, I didn't mean it, and then...and then everything happened all at once and I honestly thought I'd never see you again. When you came down to the ER that day, I thought it was the end. I don't want to lose you, please. Marry me."

She sighed, "Erik, stop - "

" - Wait, just... _please_ , just say yes."

"I can't say yes to you. I won't," she said evenly, and my heart sank at her words, at the outright rejection. I wasn't thinking clearly then - somewhere in the back of my mind, I _did_ know that - but I also knew what I wanted, and that drive outshined everything else. Yet before I could do or say anything more to try this again, Christine went on, "I'm not... _we're_ not ready.

"But I think we are," I insisted.

She shook her head, and when she spoke again, I heard enough of an edge in her voice to warn me to tread lightly, "If we were ready to get married before this, you would've supported my decision to have this baby _when_ we found out about it. Not later, and not because something happened to you."

I bristled at that, even as I'd been expecting the question of my motives, "I've already told you, that's not why - "

" - Even if that's true," she held up a hand to stall my protests, seeming to have regained her patience, and I focused on following her example as she asked, "Do you _really_ think that this is a good idea? That getting married just because you asked me after you had a panic attack is going to be the right thing for us?"

"This _isn't_ about the panic attack, though, it's…it's more that that..." I stammered, lost for words and frustrated, bowing my head to try to settle down, "I can't explain it."

"Honey, please stop and _listen_ ," she began again, taking my hands tightly in hers and forcing me to look back at her, "I would have _loved_ to say yes to you, before. But we can't do this now, we're not ready."

She was right - of course she was. A part of me had known that much, had sensed this outcome even as I'd attempted to plead my case on the matter - I knew that she was absolutely justified in coming to this conclusion. _Especially_ where our as-yet only half-repaired relationship was concerned, if I was being honest. On a very basic level, I'd understood that my contribution to this conversation, my choice to say what I had was primarily inspired by how overwhelmed I felt when I was caught off-guard by my emotions; my so-called proposal came about because I had stupidly allowed my serious lack of articulation about acknowledging my guilt and regrets to guide _anything_ I'd managed to say thereafter. But, my God...I'd _sincerely_ wanted this marriage - I had considered it so often before, when we'd talked about the possibility in passing, and never once did I feel any apprehension on that point. I wanted to marry Christine, simply because I fell in love with her so long ago, and I had never stopped loving her. I just hadn't realized in time that I needed to take that step sooner than this. And now, I made a mistake, and it appeared too late to ask her to agree on a marriage at all, at least for the foreseeable future. I hadn't given her any other choice than to hesitate, to question our preparedness.

So, steeling myself, I only nodded in return, defeated and resigned and humiliated, and then sighed, "Right, I know...I know that. I just wanted us to be ready. I thought we were."

"I believe that. But I also think that you wanted a solution I can't give you." she said, and when I'd glanced up at her, leaving my question of her meaning unspoken, she brushed my hair back affectionately and murmured, "Erik, what happened to you was terrible, but you can't let it affect you like this. You can't let all of your decisions come from a place of fear. I don't want that for you, or for me and the baby…I know you're having trouble, but you need to work this out in yourself before we can do anything serious together. It can't just be a quick-fix," she said gently. And as she gave me her explanation, as I processed what she was telling me, I had carefully moved my hands to rest on her stomach, that part of her body so recently starting to show the signs of life that it held - a life that I'd come to take so much pride in, even as I was terrified by my inexperience. I hadn't meant to start off my role in fatherhood on such unstable footing, and the aftermath of doing so truly hurt.

Leaning closer to Christine, I kissed her forehead before I whispered, "I'm sorry about this, sweetheart. I _actually_ thought I was doing the right thing," I added with a humorless laugh, then, wanting to move as far away as humanly possible from my misguided attempt at laying the past to rest and repairing our relationship, I asked with another deep, weary sigh, upset that I needed to press this issue again at all, "What does this mean for us?"

"Right now, it means I won't marry you. At least not yet," she said slowly, and I flinched at her directness as she continued, "But I'm _not_ saying that I'm giving up. I still love you, Erik. And I'm still your girlfriend, I'm not going anywhere."

I nodded, but determined that there was nothing more I could, or even _should_ say. The worst of my anxiety had already passed by the time our discussion leveled out, leaving behind only hollowness in its wake, but although it bothered me, there wasn't much to be done about it then, either. Rather, exhausted and disappointed, I just rested my head on her shoulder, trying to focus on breathing evenly, trying to focus on her on her presence and little else - because, really, it seemed that resignation was all I could give at that point anyway.

~~oOo~~

Christine

After a span of tense, thoughtful silence, Erik stood up from the ottoman and insisted to me that he was fine, that I should go ahead and continue getting ready to leave for work, instead of repeatedly asking after his wellbeing - making this request in spite of the fact that he was still _clearly_ rattled. But even so, he wasn't any less stubborn now than he'd been throughout our time together, either, and I knew he wouldn't be convinced to move forward any other way. If I kept trying to persuade him to at least let me sit with him a little while longer, simply to watch him for any signs of more erratic behavior, then I knew he'd just pull back as a response, whether or not he deliberately _meant_ to; I knew that he would instinctively hide from the root of his problems, retreating that much further into himself in lieu of asking for the help he so obviously needed. For him, retreat meant self-defense, served as a way to shield himself from another set of concerns to be managed. He'd attempted to recover from his trauma on his own for too long. But although I would certainly push for him to handle his anxiety and PTSD with a professional soon enough, for the time being I needed to take a step away myself. Because as much as I'd hesitated to do so, we just couldn't afford another setback.

So, once I finally felt ready to accept his words, and only when I'd determined - albeit cautiously - that it was safe to allow him be alone again, I watched as he left our bedroom to go downstairs, and then let the gravity of what just happened between us settle over me. And when I had set to mindfully doing so, rather than simply forming my own denial and feeling reassured about our situation in any way, as long as my doing so prevented further conflict for us, I quickly realized how far off course Erik and I had gotten - maybe more than I'd been willing to admit.

In some ways, I was genuinely hurt that the idea of us getting married, mingled with his relative enthusiasm for it, was only so strong in his mind because of his need to find closure - or perhaps even redemption - in his terrifying brush with death. It was a romantic notion, at least on the surface, but it was inherently irrational as well, and hadn't come from a place in his heart that had borne love; not in the moment he asked me to marry him, and that fact couldn't be ignored. Yet at the same time, I _could_ understand that he wasn't acting out of cruelty, nor necessarily out of selfishness. Each of those conclusions were too simple to be relied upon as evidence against him, and anyway, I knew him better than to assume that he hadn't even _distantly_ considered my emotions at some point or another. While I wouldn't try to condone his methods, I'd still believed him when he said that he thought getting married was something that we could achieve together - I truly believed that, though his question and all of his promises were haphazardly planned and poorly shared, he hadn't intended for this to go wrong. Somewhere, likely lost within the chaos of his stress-addled thoughts, he'd found a reason for us to keep going in an incredibly significant way, and in turn had chosen to act on that reason. He was only trying to do the right thing.

However, his sincerity didn't guarantee a positive outcome for us as a couple - let alone actually going through with a marriage under these conditions - and I didn't want to put any more strain on our relationship than had already existed long before this specific misstep. For the past several weeks since Erik was released from the hospital, I was aware that I'd been distant with him in terms of what our next move would be, what the actual status of our relationship had or might become. And while I'd determined that I didn't want us to separate, I had no intention of pretending that either of us didn't know _why_ I'd chosen to maintain that distance in the first place - we'd certainly danced around the subject often enough, but I wasn't ready to let anything come of it yet, should my doing so only amount to false assurances or complacency in the end. I didn't want to stall any true reconciliation, or to hold Erik's wrongs against him - though in my anger at first, I had to admit that it was tempting - but just the same, I still wasn't ready to take his hand in mine and carry on, hoping all the while that staying, without being _completely_ sure to be careful in the process, would make the circumstances surrounding our near-breakup disappear entirely.

I'd loved him even after our falling out, regardless of everything we'd said, and I wasn't lying when I said that I wouldn't leave. But I also wasn't willing to opt for permanence - to believe in its promise, if only in concept - when he had so recently been ready to walk away. There was once a point that, if he _had_ proposed under more stable conditions, if he had asked me to marry him without the fear of losing everything always hanging over us, then I would've said yes to him in a heartbeat. The fact that I had to deny him now, that I'd had to make that choice for both our sakes at all was painful - this opposition was never something that I would've wanted for us, nor something that I'd expected. But everything was different now, and in so many ways. Between the past summer and this winter, so much had changed, and we were caught unprepared; we weren't ready to face all of those changes at once.

It was with those dismal thoughts spinning through my mind that I finished getting ready for my day at work, and I'd be lying if I didn't say that my attempt to find any semblance of clarity within those thoughts had effectively distracted me at every point of the last phases of my daily routine; but if nothing else, at least I knew that I needed to begin shifting my attention back to my job _before_ I made the trip out to the hospital, and I then determinedly made a point of recapturing a bit of my former composure as I went downstairs. I wasn't too far behind Erik, and as it stood, I sincerely wanted to see him again after he had made his own escape. But as I approached the last several steps on the staircase, I noted that I wasn't entirely sure what I might find once I had reached the bottom. Honestly, I was relieved when I'd walked up to the threshold of the kitchen and saw Erik all in one piece, sitting at the dining room table and appearing relatively composed once again himself. And while he was absentmindedly shifting a half-full glass of water between his hands, the smoothed base of the glass making only a faint sound against the wooden table, he otherwise seemed no worse for the wear. I counted that as its own small victory - enough so that I felt confident in approaching him for another discussion.

"I'm going to drive myself to Chicago," I announced, startling him back to this moment.

And, to my immense relief, he nodded at my statement - but that relief was short-lived, and my heart sank when he murmured, "I figured you'd want to."

"Erik, I'm not trying to get away from you," I insisted, moving to sit across from him as I spoke. Facing him after what I'd just said, I immediately worried that he had already assumed that I didn't want to spend more time with him solely because of his botched proposal - although I was reluctant to call it _that_ , exactly. That entire exchange had been jarring for us both, and the subject at hand was certainly something that I would be mulling over once I'd gotten some time alone again. But beyond that, my main concern then had nothing to do with what had happened upstairs, and everything to do with his state of mind _because_ _of_ what happened - whether or not it would be responsible having him going out of the house yet at all. If he couldn't safely stay by himself while I was at work, then I'd make sure to call Nadir, but beyond that scenario, I didn't want another misunderstanding to create conflicts where conflicts didn't belong. So I continued evenly, "It's only because you just had a panic attack...that I'm driving myself, I mean. You need to stay here and handle _that_ , not drive almost an hour each way after you've been so upset."

Another nod, but when he responded, he sounded a bit more sure of himself, "I know, sweetheart. It's fine, I agree with you."

Relieved once again, I then asked, "How do you feel?"

"Better, actually...I did have a thought, though."

"Which would be?"

"It seems like," he began, then paused, seemingly convincing himself to keep speaking before he gave me a sly half-smile, one that I hadn't seen in far too long, "It seems like, if we're going to keep living in sin, then we might as well do it under the same roof."

Surprised by his phrasing, I actually laughed as I asked, "What are you talking about?"

"You should stay with me. I mean, you should move in. I'd _like_ you to move in here."

"Erik - "

" - I won't ask you for anything else," he added in a haste, holding up his hand when I'd started to give a wary response, much like I'd done to him earlier. But with bright eyes imploring me for more time to explain, he continued, "Having you here with me would be enough. Anyway, we're having a baby. It makes sense...We need to think about how we want to raise our child."

"As in, you don't want to do it in a separate household," I concluded his thought process.

"Right."

"You shouldn't be asking me this just because you think you have something to prove, though," I snapped, wondering if the bitterness in my voice at the notion was as obvious as it seemed. Still, this needed to be said; Erik's drastic change of perspective from before to after the shooting had remained a cause for concern for me. To be honest, I didn't know what would finally alleviate that concern, but _this_ clearly wasn't the solution.

Unsurprisingly, Erik hadn't appreciated my admission of doubt, returning almost sharply, "I'm not asking because I'm trying to prove anything."

"Sure, but I don't want to become your guilty burden - "

" - You're _not_ , nor have you _ever_ been my guilty burden, Christine," he said, a bit more loudly than I think he'd intended, but then sighed and made another, softer attempt, "I'm asking you because I love you, _and_ our baby. I think of us as a family now, so I want this family to stay together. That's it, no ulterior motive, no groveling. I'm not even giving you an ultimatum, _just_ an offer. Because I want you here, and I want us to start thinking ahead."

I sighed, reminding myself to see the consideration behind his offer - to see that it _was_ as genuine as he had assured, before I said slowly, "Alright, I understand. But...I'm not sure what to say to you yet. Let me think about this first. I still have a lease with Meg, and I'm not...I just need to think about this before I give you an answer either way, alright?"

He accepted that offer as amicably as he likely could have at the moment, but then he said nothing more to me, didn't push any aspect of the discussion further than what had already been addressed. Nor would I have expected him to try, not when we'd reached another crucial juncture in our shared lives. One thing at a time...So instead of contributing anything else on my side, deciding that we needed to take a break from trying to make any more life-altering choices for the moment, I briefly said my goodbyes and left for work that afternoon as originally planned - now with far more on my mind than I'd anticipated at the outset of the day.

~~oOo~~

By the time that I'd found a long enough break in my schedule, and was then able to use that break in order to meet with Meg to share our lunch later in my shift - though distantly noting that _lunch_ was a very relative term in our profession - I had convinced myself that I was ready to talk to her about the possibility of moving in with Erik in the near future. Namely, I hoped that this coming discussion with someone that had become such a close friend would help me to gain a more objective point of view on the idea, especially about whether or not my doing so could still be considered a reasonable way for Erik and I to progress together as we prepared for the baby. Because after everything that we'd gone through, where before I wouldn't have experienced any doubts over his reliability, nor would I have needed to think about his motives to begin with, now I obviously no longer had the luxury, and that loss had left me nothing short of disoriented; but at the very least I _did_ know that I'd have to be practical going forward, just as much as I recognized that I would have to factor in what my heart wanted alongside everything else.

As such, during my drive out to Chicago, I'd quickly found that there was only a small part of me left that was all-out opposed to the idea altogether, and I then realized that even this more difficult perspective had largely come from apprehension, but very little else - it seemed that I was only dwelling on past instances alone, and when I really stepped back and thought about everything, I knew that actively dwelling on this wasn't going to paint an accurate picture for me to base any of my decisions on. And in turn, the logical, decidedly more insistent part of me had gone on to argue that I needed to _let go_ of those past instances for good, at least as far as separating my strictly-emotional reactions to the arguments that Erik and I had from the valid reasons to hold on. In almost obsessively considering that and then some, and while I could technically assume that I'd finally reached a solution that was right for everyone involved, I still knew when to more or less surrender and admit that I simply couldn't make this choice entirely by myself, either. It would be wrong to not even just _try_ to approach this issue from all angles, and I didn't want to look back on this time of my life and have a sudden realization that I hadn't been fair - I didn't want to regret anything.

For her part, and once she'd heard the carefully edited version of what had happened that morning - wherein I'd left out the majority of the details about Erik's panic attack, noting only that he _did_ have one, and focusing instead on his request for me to move in with him - Meg was straightforward with her advice.

"I know he's made it pretty easy for you to worry about him sticking around," she said when I finished speaking, her disappointment in Erik obvious as she folded her arms to rest on the table that we'd occupied in the cafeteria. We had been able to set ourselves up in a relatively deserted part of the room, one had that offered us much more privacy than anywhere else, and I was grateful for that; it meant that there wasn't anyone nearby to overhear sensitive information. But, unaware of what I was thinking then, Meg paused a moment before continuing, "And really, I think that he's a complete piece of shit waste of space for bailing on you. And I mean it, I'm still _that_ mad at him for this crap. _But_ , you asked for my opinion, so in this case, I have to say that it doesn't actually matter what I think. What matters is what you're comfortable with."

I sighed and said quietly, "If things were different, then I'd just go live with the guy that knocked me up and call it a day. I wouldn't _have_ to worry about what I'm comfortable with."

"But things aren't different."

"Right, they're not."

Meg exhaled thoughtfully, reaching for her coffee cup as she looked off in the distance, planning her next words in silence. And it was strangely out of place then, but I'd almost wanted to laugh as I sat and watched her drink it - before we'd started talking more seriously over my problems, she had discretely ribbed me about not being able to have any of the coffee myself, wondering aloud how I was getting through any aspect of my internship without the caffeine to help me out, and her comment had lingered in the back of my mind ever since it was made. But as quickly as my amusement first appeared, it faded again when I started to think once more in terms of where my life was heading. There was still so much I needed to handle, only a fraction of which had to do with the world outside the hospital. For now, no one in oncology besides Meg knew that I was pregnant, and I'd meant to keep it that way as long as possible, hiding my news to avoid any rumors and unwanted speculation; even outside of work, the amount of people that knew hadn't gone past Nadir and Sahra's household, and that was fine by me. And anyway, with everything that was happening at the time, I wasn't ready to share this news with anyone else - not yet, especially knowing damn good and well that not everyone would take it in stride.

In the meantime, I was still getting away with appearing at work without the changing line of my stomach giving anything away to those around me; if nothing else, I was thankful for that.

Ignorant to my thoughts, and coincidentally, as well as to what exactly Erik and I had just talked about some hours ago, Meg asked, "Do you think he's doing this to avoid marrying you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm just worried he's trying to appease you or something. Like, he'll say he wants you to move in so you won't bother him about committing to anything more serious."

I scoffed and looked away, "Believe me, it's definitely not like that for us. And he wouldn't do something so underhanded," I said, pointedly ignoring Meg rolling her eyes - a clear indication of her disagreement over what inconsiderate thing Erik would or would not do - before I insisted, "If he doesn't want to get married, then he'd say so _directly_ ," I finished stubbornly, hoping that the lie wasn't obvious in my tone. Because reality was the exact opposite of what I was saying then - Erik had _very_ _much_ been in favor of marriage, but that was only one part of our problem; it was the question of worrying about haste and panic that factored into keeping us from going forward. I didn't _like_ lying to my friend - especially when considering how supportive she'd always been - certainly no more than I enjoyed having to omit information at the outset of our discussion. But regardless of my guilty conscience, this particular conversation over marriage and doubts and intentions and every damn other dilemma was just as much about Erik's mental health as it was about our relationship, and I respected the fact that he wouldn't want more than was absolutely necessary to be advertised outside of the realm of our private world. Explaining to Meg about Erik's anxiety attack-turned proposal would require discussing the anxiety attack itself in a more in-depth manner than before, and I wasn't willing to disclose anything he wouldn't want me to.

So in the end, I settled for a half-truth, "He knows we're not ready to get married anyway. Hence the move-in idea, to take this slowly."

She looked at me incredulously at that, but then said nothing more on that specific point, softening her expression and asking instead, "How's he doing, by the way?"

"He's managing," I shrugged uneasily, "He still has a lot to work through."

A nod, then, "When's he coming back to work?"

"Hopefully in a few weeks."

"Well, I can't say I'm looking forward to seeing him, but I know you'll be relieved to have him close again," she said, and when I lowered my head and smiled at the idea, she went on, "I can see how hard it is for you to be away. That's some kind of love right there."

"It's hard _not_ to love him, you know? Sometimes I'm still so incredibly pissed off at him for everything he said, and I think, that's it, I've had enough. But then I'll remember being there with him when his heart stopped that day, and…I remember that we almost lost everything..." I trailed off, not wanting to venture further into those memories.

But Meg persisted, "Is dying enough to make you forgive him, though?"

I paused, then, "It's enough to have given me some perspective."

"Makes sense. So then I have to ask, do you want to marry him?"

"I just told you, we're not - "

" - I mean, later. Do you want this to keep going somewhere, or not?"

On this, I was able to answer quickly, "Yes, I do."

Meg sighed, "Then I think you should take steps toward that. If he's asking, and if what you're saying about him is true, it obviously means something."

"Alright...I'll think about that. But on a practical note, what about our lease?" I asked, gesturing between us. We met because her last roommate walked out on their rental agreement - I didn't want to leave her in the same position, to make her think that I was doing so carelessly, "If I _were_ to move out, where does that leave you? I think we're really only looking at a couple of weeks before I'd actually move, if I do go out to Schaumburg."

But instead of sharing my concerns, she only shook her head, "I'm not so much worried about that. I just need to plan ahead a little bit, but I'll be fine. I'm more worried about you."

"Don't worry about me," I sighed again, "I just - "

But before I could say anything further, Meg's pager buzzed on the table between us, effectively disrupting any other decisions or responsibilities that might've been parsed out.

"We'll talk more later," she said as she stood up, "It'll all get figured out, I promise," she said reassuringly, and only turned to leave when I indicated my acceptance, calling over her shoulder as she walked out of the cafeteria, "I want full visitation rights for Willow, though."

~~oOo~~

For the most part, my decision was made long before that evening, when I'd gotten to Erik's house - when I'd gotten home, rather, so long as I didn't lose my nerve and back out now. Though I was still wary where my heart was concerned, and very likely would be for some time to come, I also had to believe that I was doing the right thing, that my actions going forward were in my best interests and in Erik's, and that our baby would be taken care of first and foremost. In the end, stability would matter as much as anything else that needed to be examined, and that thought stood out in my mind as I ran through Meg's advice again, as I ran through my own stance on this choice; I'd wanted so badly for Erik and I to be together, for us to go on and be an intact family, rebuilding our relationship without the doubt and the heartache that had tainted it so far. I wasn't going to try to convince myself that it would be easy to find, nor that doing so would be immediate, but I wanted us to finally have genuine peace somewhere down the line. Because if nothing else, I knew that not fostering any potential chances to catch it would be a mistake.

When I found Erik again, he was listening to music in the living room, the volume on the Sirius station set low as he lay on the floor by the couch. His position was casual enough at first glance, and yet when I stepped into the room to lie down beside him, the first thing I noticed was that he truly seemed exhausted - though that detail in itself wasn't actually surprising. PTSD is a draining illness altogether, and it always took so much energy from him whenever it appeared as aggressively as it had that morning. It was no small comfort to me when he'd eventually agreed to go and see some sort of therapist in the next few days, my steady stream of text messages throughout the day providing reminder after reminder of how important it was for him to get help and to manage whatever it was in him that had broken in front of that mirror. As much as I knew I was nagging him, I also knew that I had to be relentless in the face of his stubbornness, and in turn, I was grateful when my doing so had paid off and I could ease up. Now, though, I was just happy to be with him again, to undo at least a fragment of the unpleasantness that we'd shared.

He shifted to lay on his side, taking me in his arms as securely as possible, and said softly, his eyes betraying his weariness as he spoke, "I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad I'm back, too," I said, leaning on my arm to look at him more directly, "You know, I was thinking earlier that I'm going to need to do a big reveal at work soon, about the baby. I need to make some kind of announcement."

He nodded, "I'll be with you for that, then. We should make the announcement together."

Satisfied that we were able to come to that relatively neutral agreement, I then asked, "So...does your offer still stand?"

There was no need for him to clarify what offer, and he was quick to respond, "Of course it does. I wasn't planning to renege."

"Then, maybe we can think about turning the guest room upstairs into the baby's room. And, make a spot for Willow by one of the windows down here," I said, almost in a rush, simply because I was finally allowing myself to ease my defenses and get excited about this milestone.

"Whatever you want to do, we'll do," Erik said, giving a half-smile to match my rising eagerness before he kissed me and murmured, "Thank you, sweetheart."


	32. Command Me to Be Well, Interlude

**Author's Note:** _The title of this interlude comes from lyrics to the song "Take Me to Church" by Hozier. Please R &R, and enjoy! _

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Interlude 5 - Command Me To Be Well

Erik

There was no adequate way for me to explain how I'd felt upon entering the medical arts building where Christine's obstetrician held her clinical office hours. At least, not beyond distantly realizing the sense of anticipation I carried all the while - with that anticipation falling somewhere between all-out dread and an unfamiliar excitement. Honestly, it was overwhelming; each feeling seemed to battle for dominance over the other in my mind. But still, I had long-since decided that dwelling would only serve to make me more anxious. And it just wasn't my place to be anxious to begin with - not that day, and certainly not in the manner I was nearly allowing. I needed to find a way to _welcome_ this experience somehow, because I was sure that by not doing so, I would contradict everything that I'd been trying to prove about my sincerity to be a part of this family. The only reason this dread was even a contender for me now was because of my own fucked up childhood, and then one too many moments of self-doubt concerning my competence as a father _because_ of my childhood. Otherwise, I wanted to be there that day, wanted to finally have the chance to stay alongside my girlfriend for one of the few OB visits I could reasonably attend.

So I fought to bite back any remaining negativity I had, attempted to calm myself the hell down again and enjoy the occasion for what it was - all while telling myself that what I was going through was probably a normal reaction to this kind of appointment anyway. If I turned out to be the only father to have this particular bout of nerves, then it seemed fair that I would have reason to be more concerned about _that_ than anything else. Christine, for her part, mentioned sharing in my nervousness to an extent, but she really tended to sway toward excitement overall. I envied her for that, as much as I admired her level-headedness - but I knew, if nothing else, that I would do well to follow closely to her example. And so I took her hand in mine whenever she held it out for me, returning her tight grasp more than once as the nurse finished preparing her for this next among the many routine examinations to come. Then, for a short time afterward, Christine and I just waited in silence for the doctor herself to arrive, for the ultrasound to be underway and to be given another glimpse of our baby - a glimpse, and any further details its image would bring.

We initially stayed quiet while the doctor worked, simply observing and listening to her walking us through the procedure, before she paused her movement with the machine, turning around to face us as she asked, "You two still want to know what you're having, right?"

Our response was an immediate and shared, "Yes."

She nodded, and that heavy and distinctly expectant silence surrounded us once again, until she pointed up to the screen and said brightly, "Well there you go, it's a girl!"

And of course, I _heard_ what she'd said - but it still took another moment or so until I'd felt really able to comprehend exactly what had just been spoken. When I did understand the words, though, I distantly acknowledged the sharp, surprised laugh that escaped my throat before I had the chance to actually prevent it. At any rate, I wouldn't have wanted to - nothing I experienced before those moments could even remotely compare to what I felt now. Like so many aspects of this occasion, I couldn't describe it, but I didn't want to lose that feeling even so. Beside me, Christine cried and smiled as she moved to sit up straighter, just enough to get a better look at the screen; but even as we spoke idly to each other, to the OB, neither of us was willing to turn away entirely from the black and white image of our baby - our _daughter_ \- still so small, and yet clearly so strong just the same. We were having a girl - that alone was a strange concept to me, perhaps stranger than her existence had been in the first place. Because suddenly, she was all the more _real_ , a significantly more tangible little person than she was only an instant before. And I was so incredibly happy to see her then, to look at her and consider her and imagine the future she represented. Our child, the most important member of my own new family, and one that I'd so recently wanted to run away from - that notion seemed impossible to me now.

When the exam and its formalities had concluded - and once Christine and I had left the appointment together a short time afterward - I was feeling confident, exceptionally at ease with everything that was happening, with everything that was going to happen.

So it struck me as rather strange when I found myself feeling so miserable that same night; yet as much as I tried, I couldn't recapture the hopeful feeling that I'd had while looking at the ultrasound image in-person. As it stood, by the evening I'd determined that I was just getting anxious again - although that anxiety was manifesting itself in a far different way than it had only hours before. Because whether I liked it or not, I had inadvertently allowed myself to overthink everything we were experiencing, and in turn I had convinced myself once more that all wasn't going as well as I'd believed. At the very least, I _had_ maintained the presence of mind to be able to make the important distinction between my anxiety and reality, and had done so early enough not to freak myself out again entirely. But that still didn't mean that I could resolve the problem so quickly, either. And so, resigned, I simply chose to hole myself up in my newly-designated office for the time being, continuing my attempt to make sense of the bookcases that I'd finally put in, thinking that the monotony of the task would prove to be the distraction I needed then.

Before long, however, even shelving the seemingly-endless amount of books was more mindless than I'd initially realized, and in the worst way; I was too immersed within my thoughts. I hadn't gotten very far in the project when I just gave up again altogether, deciding all at once to head back to the living room and stoke the fire before I moved on to something else. And it was only when I moved to kneel in front of the fireplace that I realized Christine had fallen asleep on the couch - most likely at some point after I'd gone into the office - lying comfortably with Rex curled up on the cushions at her feet. When I stood again and approached her, I noted just how peaceful she looked then - how _happy_ \- under the dimmed light of the lamp glowing across the room. I smiled briefly at the sight of her sleeping there in our home, at the thought of the way we would be sharing our lives going forward - but the expression was lost to me in the next instant, taken as quickly as it appeared. Because I couldn't find any measure of Christine's peace, and I couldn't even begin to guess the exact source of my uneasiness. For the first time in my life, it truly seemed as if I had everything I'd ever wanted. Everything that I needed was right there in front of me, and I _knew_ it was a gift beyond measure - I should have been unreasonably happy.

Yet instead, my happiness was startlingly absent, replaced by something that I couldn't immediately name...But in the wake of that surge of emotion, I realized that I was terrified - that my fear came from a sudden understanding that while I believed I had everything now, that also meant I had so much more to _lose_. The thought of any such loss was nearly enough to break me right then and there, to destroy the resolve that I'd stubbornly built in order to maintain my confidence in the future. It would have, in another life. The difference was that my perspective was drastically altered - if it hadn't, a part of me had to wonder if I still might have chosen to run away, because running would have been a hell of a lot easier than living with my fear. But _easy_ was no longer an option. It couldn't be, and I had to repeat that to myself as I moved carefully to cover Christine with the throw blanket that she'd kept draped on the back of the couch - another positive addition from her moving in, a small touch of life that I'd otherwise been unable to bring to the space myself. I tucked the blanket around her, before turning and attempting to leave the room again, if only for the sake of reminding myself to calm down and stay that way, but she'd stirred the moment my hands made contact with her skin; I felt guilty for waking her up then.

"I'm sorry," I said, keeping my voice low, "I didn't mean to bother you."

"You didn't," she murmured, her voice heavy from just barely waking up. But then she looked at me a little bit closer, and it was clear to me that I hadn't effectively hidden any of my unease before I came into the living room. Concerned, she caught my arm before I could stand upright again, asking, "Honey, are you alright?"

 _That's all relative, babe,_ I thought.

Dismissing my tension, I paused for a moment before answering, taking another instant just to look at her, at the swell of her stomach beneath the blanket. And I thought of our daughter once more, tested that word again in my mind several times to conceptualize it, capturing it as I had when I'd first seen her form on the ultrasound. I wasn't necessarily alright then, but I thought that still could be. I _wanted_ to be. So I only nodded as I leaned forward, whispered my simplified response to her, and kissed her slowly before gesturing for her to go back to sleep. I'd let her in on this soon enough, but not that night; she deserved to enjoy the remnants of the day without my own damn hang-ups complicating everything. It would be easy to run away from all of this, to give free rein to my anxiety if doing so meant any chance of protecting myself and my family from my perceived failures. But I sincerely didn't want to take the easy way out - I didn't even want to consider that route again.

For Christine and our daughter, I _had_ to be better than myself.


	33. My Time Ticks Around You

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back! As we progress, please let me know what you think. We're not to the end yet - only halfway there, actually - so make sure to keep an eye out for updates! The title for this chapter comes from lyrics to the song "When It's Time" by Green Day, originally in American Idiot Broadway. Enjoy!_

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Chapter 25 - My Time Ticks Around You

Erik

The first thing I was completely aware of was the simultaneous sound and appearance of Willow jumping up onto the bed to demand acknowledgment from me, her sudden presence in the otherwise empty space pulling me from an uncomfortable, restless sleep.

Although, as much as I hated to, I really did have to admit that this abrupt start to the day was probably for the best, at least in my case. Because had I not been forced into full, continued consciousness by the cat's insistence for attention, then I was sure I more than likely would've just convinced myself to stay in bed as long as possible, eventually resolving to keep lying in the semi-darkness of my bedroom indefinitely. That might've been all well and good in _theory_ , but in reality, the only thing that I was doing for myself then was delaying the inevitable, accomplishing nothing and unsuccessfully working through my dread all the while. I was scheduled to undergo my mandatory psychological evaluation later that day, the formality itself a safety measure that was going to be overseen by Cook County Hospital's risk management coordinator working alongside one of our in-house psychiatrists; but altogether, I would've been perfectly content to _not_ have to speak with any of those people at all. In my mind, the practice felt insulting, among its other combinations of charms. I'd gone through this kind of evaluation before, and in noting those memories, I knew for a fact that it was a practice I would just as soon have avoided.

Sighing harshly at the thought, I turned over to lie flat on my back, staring at the ceiling as I fought to calm myself down again, in spite of all of the variables that were racing through my mind by that point. But then, startling me as she did so, Willow meowed at me once more when she seemed to notice that my attention had shifted from her; it was only then that I remembered that she was even in the room to begin with, and I actually felt guilty for ignoring her. I had never owned any pets until I got Rex, so it was nice to have another animal in the house; I was glad that Willow's addition was a direct result of Christine moving in some weeks before.

"Sorry, your highness," I murmured, moving my hand from underneath the blanket just enough to absentmindedly scratch the cat behind her ears.

As soon as Willow settled and closed her eyes contentedly, Christine walked into the room, observing the scene and saying as she approached to sit beside me, "You know, you'll have to remember to keep giving her this much attention after the baby's born. We both will. I don't want her getting jealous of her little sister."

Despite the stress that I was still feeling then, I laughed at her words, shifting to face her as I asked incredulously, "Can that happen?"

" _Yes_ , it can, and I want to make sure they get along from the start. Rex, too."

"Rex will be a great brother, I'm not worried. He's always been good with Zach."

"Right, but Zach came along _before_ Rex," she said, moving under the blanket to lay with me herself. We formed a bit of a puzzle then, having to adjust for my already-sprawled out limbs and Willow's immovable form at the head of the bed, and being careful around Christine's growing stomach - so much so that I had to wonder how this scenario would play out once she got bigger, and then once we added our daughter into the mix. But we'd managed well enough in the end, and Christine continued without pause, "Besides, Zach is Rex's cousin, not his brother, if we're _really_ going to get so technical."

"I can't believe we're even having this conversation."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled, "These are important details, Erik," then, asking more seriously, "Did I wake you up when I went downstairs?"

"No, this one woke me up when she started screaming at me," I responded, nodding up toward the cat, but spoke again before I realized exactly what I was saying, "If I'd had my way, I would've preferred to stay asleep."

Christine sighed, gently brushing my hair away from my forehead, "You don't want to go in today," she concluded quickly, never really having to ask to know the answer.

I only nodded, "I wish they could just say 'you're healed,' or 'you're batshit crazy' and be done with it."

"I guess it can't be that simple."

"No, it can't. I've done all this in the past, I know what to expect, and it sucks," I scoffed, but then explained at her questioning glance, "A few years back, I had to have a psych eval like this after, ah…" I cleared my throat uneasily, "After my suicide attempt, before I could start work at County, remember?"

"Then you know why it's necessary."

I shrugged, "I also know that it's invasive, and it's uncomfortable."

"Do you need to put it off? Wait until you're feeling more up to it before you go in?

"I can't see how that would help anything," I said, feeling unreasonably bothered by the question, my anxiety spiking once again as I lay reflecting on everything that I'd been so upset about when I woke up, and then some. So, looking back up toward the ceiling, I immediately tried to change the subject, "It doesn't matter. Are we still making the announcement today?"

"Of course, if you're still ready."

"I am...I can't say how everyone else will _react_ , but I'm ready."

She said nothing to that, apparently satisfied with my answer then, and I thought that this brief exchange meant the end of the conversation entirely. Even though the tension that we'd shared had only spanned the last handful of moments, that realization did nothing to lessen the anxiety that was still hanging on after the fact. But I was relieved to think that, if nothing else, the tension had passed by now, so long as that meant the anxiety would abate soon after.

That was, until she pressed, "And how you're feeling about the appointment _does_ matter, Erik. You know it does."

 _Goddamnit_.

"You're relentless."

"I just want to make sure you can handle this," she said, her words gentle even as she forced me to meet her eyes again, "No one will hold it against you if you need to reschedule."

"I'm _not_ rescheduling," I said defensively, "I need to get this over with."

Sitting up suddenly, she argued in return as I followed suit in the next instant, "This isn't something to _get over with_. If that's how you feel, then maybe you still need time away."

"Christine, believe me, if I still any need time, they'll let me know," I bit back sardonically, allowing all of the bitterness and the unease that had clutched at my mind for weeks to bleed into my tone completely; and I spoke again without stopping to consider how I'd sound as I snapped, "That's what the whole fucking point of this _is_ , to make sure I'm not a liability to the hospital if I go back to work before I've been cleared. So the sooner I appease the admin, the sooner I'll know how fucked in the head I am, and how long y'all will need to worry about me having a meltdown."

"I don't think that...I've _never_ thought that about you, Erik," she whispered, and my heart sank when I registered the tremor that I was hearing in her voice - when I recognized the telltale sign that she was about to start crying, and all because I had lost my temper in response to her thoughtfulness. She was trying to _help_ , and she had every right to be concerned. Nothing could excuse my outburst - she certainly didn't deserve that kind of treatment. She didn't deserve _any_ of this unkindness from me, and I damn well knew that she didn't deserve it.

Pulling her into my arms before any more hesitance on my part gave her the chance to doubt my sincerity, I said softly, "Honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

And to my immense relief, she returned the embrace, her tone becoming close to normal again as quickly as it had nearly broken, "I know you didn't."

Sighing, I shifted to be able to look her in the eyes, "I understand that you're worried, and I appreciate it. But I need to keep this appointment. I'm not _thrilled_ about it, but that doesn't mean I won't be taking this seriously. Alright?"

She'd nodded at that, but said nothing else, this time letting the issue lie for good. I was grateful for that, even knowing that I shouldn't have been. But still, there really was nothing more that either of us could say about it then anyway - not without reigniting the tension that we'd just barely tamped down. We didn't need to invite more. But the fact that we recognized the merit in laying down our arms long before a true argument began was honestly a comfort to us both; I'd felt confident at least that _this_ hurdle was cleared. As it stood, this short-lived conflict was only a small one to face off with, at least compared to what the rest of the day had in store. Despite my hesitance to set foot inside of the psychiatrist's office, I hadn't lied to Christine when I'd said that I intended to take the evaluation seriously - but I also hadn't lied to her when I'd said that I wasn't thrilled to have to go through with that mess in the first place, either.

Still holding her in my arms in the center of our bed, I couldn't make myself let go of the weight of apprehension that had settled, and then stubbornly remained, in my chest.

~~oOo~~

Once the unexpected disagreement of that morning had been reasonably settled, once we'd eventually gotten ourselves ready for the day, it truly seemed as if no time had passed at all before I was stepping outside with Christine, locking the door behind me while she made her way past, our gestures with each other steadily returning to their welcomed familiarity.

Recent snowfall, illuminated by the bright blue sky and a somehow brighter sun, had rendered the front yard blinding initially - even in spite of hiding behind sunglasses - forcing me to pause where I stood and adjust to it before I was able to make sure that Christine wasn't having any difficulty walking out to my car. With the sun overhead finally winning out over the otherwise frozen early-January temperatures, the driveway wasn't left as icy as it had been during the previous weeks, but that fact alone didn't make me less attentive to Christine's safety. She could joke about her center of gravity shifting along with her pregnancy all she wanted - but that shift in her balance was a serious byproduct of the pregnancy, and therefore the prospect of her falling and hurting herself or the baby was a risk that legitimately scared me to death. But the garage door was broken, a recurring issue that I'd always managed to leave on the back-burner, forcing us to keep the cars in the driveway and to make such risks necessary until the proper repairs were made.

From there, after we'd settled in the car and began our trip out to the city, it was with no small amount of effort that I bargained with myself to concentrate on the road, and absolutely nothing else as I drove us to Chicago - largely because concentrating on something relatively productive seemed to be better than dwelling on all of the other things that I couldn't change or avoid. _That_ was an attempt at using the mismatched combination of the coping mechanisms I'd learned over the years, and it was admittedly a poorly-executed attempt at that, if I were to try to be objective about exactly what I was doing. Incidentally, I was _well_ aware of how much effort I was wasting in hyperfocusing as a means of coping with my anxiety; and yet a part of me had still insisted that this was more beneficial than doing nothing and hoping for the best.

It was that internal advice that I followed during the first part of our journey. And when Christine didn't immediately initiate any sort of conversation, as she normally did whenever we left Schaumburg together - moving instead to turn the volume up on the radio, close her eyes, and relax into the passenger seat - I didn't protest the sudden lack of spoken communication between us. I was absently grateful for her insight as I resumed my focus only on the road ahead of me _and nothing else_.

In the end, that effort paid off when I'd so badly needed it to; for the most part - and the anxiety that was left skulking in the back of my mind notwithstanding - I'd gradually permitted myself to ease off of my total, near-obsessive attention to only one thing at a time. I was able to allow my mind to wander to the more everyday concerns that I'd had, just as I would've done on any other occasion, as if I were any other _person_ existing there in place of myself. After taking another deep breath and then loosening my vice-grip on the steering wheel, calming myself once more to functionality, I was finally able to clear my head enough to actually sit back and enjoy the time that Christine and I were spending with each other on the remainder of our drive.

By the time she'd noted when my tension receded, and then had turned the volume of the music down again, reaching across the center console to take my hand in hers after she did so, we'd steadily lost ourselves in a near-effortless conversation. Sometimes we would find ourselves talking about what was happening recently with her internship, or sometimes talking about the baby, talking about everyone and everything in our lives that was _ordinary_ , and I loved it - so much so that, once we were closer to the hospital, I'd very nearly forgotten my anxiety, had almost forgotten about its source altogether.

 _Almost_.

Because that same ugly, stubborn sense of unease had returned tenfold, had appeared again at the forefront of my thoughts as soon as the expansive Chicago skyline rose to full view in front of me. What was once a familiar scene of mingled old and new structures towering over the grid of streets below - a scene that I could very easily have reflected on from the outside as beautiful, something iconic - now only held me hostage in fear of it, of everything it had grown to represent. It was an exceedingly disarming feeling, and one that worsened that much more as we were gradually drawn into the city itself by the traffic surrounding us. This wasn't necessarily a _surprising_ reaction to the circumstances, all things considered, yet even as I forced myself to keep my focus on the road - determinedly warning myself that our safety was in my hands, so long as I was the one driving this car - I couldn't ignore the abrupt shift that had happened within my mind once more. And with that, harsh tension quickly gave way to memories of the past, images of the trauma that had taken place in the same hospital that I was about to reenter.

We had barely stopped at a red light, at this point only a handful of blocks from the main entrance of the hospital's parking structure, when everything that I'd gone through came flooding back; by then, we were several cars down from the intersection, and I knew we'd stay there at least one or two more traffic light cycles, which meant that the hospital would remain perfectly in my line of sight until the cluster of buildings up ahead obscured its outline. It was daunting - there was no other way to describe what I felt then. In reality, very little time had actually passed since the beginning of that initial red light cycle, since we'd gotten to the line of cars before it. Even so, it truly seemed to me as if Christine and I had been stuck waiting there for hours, as if the world was collapsing in on itself. Realizing what I was imagining, it slowly dawned on me that I was only seeing the world in _that_ particularly distorted manner because I'd let myself get pulled in by a full-blown panic attack. I was overwhelmed, plain and simple, and it was beyond careless not to have recognized that fact _a_ _lot_ sooner than this; I hadn't seen it coming, but considering my circumstances, I sure as hell should have.

So, at the first chance I saw, I pulled off to the side of the crowded street, to the nearest curbside space that the car would fit into without blocking the rest of the road. And all the while, I'd been so preoccupied by freaking myself out - the least of all wondering exactly how long I would have to continue seeing that goddamned hospital looming ahead - that I completely lost track of everything Christine was saying to me before I pulled over. It was obviously never my intention to ignore her outright, but luckily she'd noticed that inadvertent misstep on my part long before she could misinterpret it as rudeness. Whether or not she knew it then, she probably saved us from another fight.

This time, however, I didn't have the chance to be grateful for her understanding - rather, as I fought to catch up to myself, to settle back into the relatively calmer state I'd been in before, she was the one of us to speak first. Concern was clear in her tone when she stopped what she was saying to ask, "What is it? Are you alright?"

Crossing my arms and leaning to rest them on the steering wheel as I bowed my head over them, I could only reply stiffly, "I don't know...I don't know."

"You're shaking," she murmured. I hadn't even noticed that, but in the next moment I did feel when she'd set her hand firmly onto my back, seemingly beginning an effort to rub soothing patterns into my skin as she continued, "I'm sorry, I thought you were starting to feel better."

"I _was_. Past-tense."

From the corner of my eye, I saw her nod, then heard her ask, "What changed?"

Sighing, I moved to sit straight again, this time letting my head fall wearily against the headrest as I stared ahead, nearly sightless, looking off somewhere well beyond the traffic and the buildings and the underlying chaos of the city. Altogether, it too closely mirrored everything that was happening inside of me then, and it was all that I could do to even just _attempt_ to look past the worst of that idea and clear my thoughts. Instead of responding to Christine's question, a significant, irrational part of me fought to take over, almost desperately wanting to know if there truly _was_ something going wrong with my mind to make me this strongly affected by the recent past, grasping at any possible hint of a meaning behind what it was doing to me. So, in lieu of a direct response, I asked her slowly, not needing to explain what I'd meant, "Was it hard for you to come back to work after it happened?"

We had never really attempted this discussion before, or at least not in these terms. Neither of us had been ready to face off with _another_ aspect of something that we were trying so hard to move past, and I believe that was a part of why she didn't answer me right away. Yet for a moment, I'd considered asking her again, worried that she hadn't heard me, or that she hadn't understood what I needed from her after all - but when I turned to face her, she'd already begun to speak, her voice taking on an air of sadness even as she maintained its softer tone, "In a lot of ways, yes, definitely. Going back to work was terrible, even after you were home for a while."

"Why?"

"I think you already know why."

"But I need to hear it from you."

Another nod, a pause as she seemed to weigh her words, then, "It was impossible not to think about everything that happened there that day, Erik. No matter where I was in the building, I'd remember the shooting, and everyone else that was there told me the same thing, that it was impossible not to think about, wherever we went," she said, reaching out to brush my hair aside, just as she'd done this morning. Before she could pull away again, I caught her hand in my own, slowly brought it down to my chest and held fast to it as she continued, "It's easier to come back now, but it was almost too much for me before. I just...I hated thinking that this place was where we'd almost lost you."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this?"

"You already had enough to handle. And anyway, it's gotten better."

"What changed?" I asked, echoing her earlier question.

"You're still here."

She had spoken those simple words to me in the same soft tone that had been present in her voice throughout this conversation - and yet what she just said was like a clap of thunder filling the space around us all the same, its unexpectedness serving as something able to break through the haze of panic that had brought me the impulse to question her in the first place.

 _You're still here...We'd almost lost you…_

 _You're still here..._

I couldn't respond to that, though. I didn't know _how_ to respond, to be perfectly honest, nor could I even begin to think of an adequate way to describe exactly how she affected me in those moments. But still, she deserved to know that I _had_ understood her then, even if that understanding had currently existed only in the most fundamental sense, and even if I couldn't quite articulate as much yet. So, kissing the back of her hand before finally letting go of it, I said just enough to convey that I'd heard her, that I was listening in spite of my anxiety, and let the issue lie for now. I'd find a way to thank her in due time, but this wasn't it.

We had lapsed into silence once more from there, reflecting, calming down, though each of us was apparently meant to remain lost indefinitely inside these ongoing concerns regardless; it was only when I became aware of just how much time I'd wasted in my anxiety-driven detour turned-existential crisis that we'd started talking again. Except now, we communicated back and forth simply for the sake of returning to today's original set of tasks, and taking that relative step backward instantly made me uneasy. Still, the artificial simplicity _was_ necessary, once again, if I had any hope of successfully making it through the rest of the day, and I had to keep reminding myself of that. Christine and I were fine - this tension was my cross to bear. Resigned to that as I put on a new surgical mask in preparation for being out in public, I restarted the car and moved to merge back into the flow of traffic. And as I did so, I glanced ahead as I waited for an opening, only to see that the hospital was right there, of course, _right_ where it always had been. But this time around, I forced myself to face it without flinching away from its imposing hold on me - one way or another, I needed to convince myself that I could go there, because if I didn't do so now that I was this close to it, I wasn't sure if I ever _would_.

Therefore, once on the road again, I looked out toward the hospital whenever possible, telling myself over and over again all the while that what I was looking at now was no true monstrosity - rather, its monstrosity had only ever existed in fragmented, half-true images in my memories, in the ever-existent reminders of two addict gunmen that had decided to take matters into their own hands. Everything I saw in front of me in the present, however, was _a building_ , and only that. It was just a structure of bricks and stones and steel and glass - nothing more.

It couldn't hurt me.

That phrase had essentially turned into its own twisted mantra in my head soon enough, but before I knew it, Christine and I had arrived in one piece - we were able to get ourselves to walk beyond the parking garage, beyond the hospital's main entryway and every other landmark leading us to one of the larger elevator banks. Obviously, I would've preferred to hide out, to take a path that was far less travelled that this was, but as my luck would have it, there was only one route to the psychiatrist that I was supposed to see, and that route to her office just so happened to be in the centermost section of the hospital. Of course. So, albeit grudgingly, I kept walking when every instinct told me to turn back, encouraged only by Christine's presence beside me.

Every now and again, someone passing by would recognize us on the way upstairs, would stop and make a show of welcoming me back to work - assuming that I even _would_ be back - always doing so after an uncertain glance or a surprised double-take to be sure of who they'd seen covered behind the surgical mask. Some of them were sincere in their words, which I could find within myself to appreciate. But others were clearly only trying to earn themselves a few social points among our other colleagues by interacting with me upon my return, and I took offense to that display of workplace hierarchy resuming. It certainly wasn't something I'd missed in my absence. In turn, that event contributed to me growing steadily more agitated the closer I'd gotten to the appointment that I was dreading, but I _was_ taking each step to it in spite of it all; as far as I was concerned, each and every one that I'd made forward had to count for something.

Outside of the faculty and outpatient offices in psychiatrics, Christine and I quickly decided to separate; her shift was starting soon, and our delays caused her to run later than anticipated. She'd wanted to see me to the door, to hang back if and when I needed her to stay, and so we attempted to use our time together accordingly. But, thanks to me, getting to have her linger with me was no longer an option we could take. Still, when we'd shared a parting embrace - something that would've otherwise been a casual gesture between us, had the current situation been a hell of a lot better - I held her close to me, tightly in my arms, and kept her there well past what was necessary or reasonable. Admittedly, I was almost afraid to have to let her go.

"We'll meet afterward, sweetheart," she said reassuringly as she shifted in my arms to look at me more directly, though she didn't move to pull away entirely just yet, either - kept her arms draped over my shoulders - and I took comfort in the sustained contact, "I'll have a break around the same time you're done up here, and then we'll make the announcement, alright?"

I nodded at the reconfirmation of our plans - that was the easier aspect of our day.

Made in part as incentive to get me into this building again, and in a larger part as a means of practicality, we'd finally come to the decision to go public with Christine's pregnancy. We had to do so soon enough _anyway_ , but at least in this case, we were much more in control of the situation as a whole. For the moment, only a handful of people knew anything about the state of our family at all. Nadir, Sahra, Meg, and Christine's mentor in oncology had been told about the baby early on, followed shortly after the gender-reveal ultrasound by a call to Gene to inform him that he was going to have his own great-granddaughter in the spring, before we eventually made a less-than enthusiastic call to my father and to Christine's estranged mother, largely to keep the peace in each of our distant families. Strangely, they'd never wanted to hear from us, yet always seemed to take any missed messages as personal attacks - my father did this the most often, although Christine's mother gave her occasional contributions as well. It was exhausting to deal with the fallout, especially against people we disliked and only ever spoke to periodically, so over the years, Christine and I learned to exercise a particular brand of familial diplomacy that served us well. Their responses to the baby were given with all of the expected indifference, but if nothing else, reaching out to them as a very, _very_ basic courtesy was one less problem for us.

But outside of our decidedly limited circle, most of the people we'd regularly interacted with were oblivious to Christine's pregnancy, and until now, there really hadn't been a good time to change that. For one thing, Christine simply hadn't wanted to share the news too soon, in the event that something went wrong - it was unlikely, according to her OB, but considering that her first pregnancy had ended with a miscarriage, she was understandably hesitant to say anything too soon about our baby. Then, between my recovery in the autumn and the winter holidays in recent weeks, she'd chosen to keep it quiet just a bit longer out of sheer lack of available time, remaining under dressy, oversized sweaters until she could determine that the timing for the announcement was perfect. But as of the last week or so, she was running out of appropriate opportunities to say anything _herself_ before someone guessed. She was carrying high - all evidence of her pregnancy was faint, anyone close to her would have to know exactly what they were looking for to be able to see it - but we were reasonably sure that the subtle curve that she had now wouldn't be subtle for much longer.

And anyway, at the end of the day, this _was_ good news; I wanted to share it, to an extent, as much as she wanted to. It had taken Christine some time to convince me to _what_ extent that should be, but she'd won the decision-making power in the end, and I was grateful that she had. She was, by far, more level-headed than I could ever hope to be, namely about social norms, and I trusted her judgment. From there, the idea was simple - tell those that happened to be in our respective departments that day, and let the grapevine do the rest of the work on our behalf.

In the meantime, we needed to part ways. After a kiss goodbye - perhaps more lingering on my side of it than intended - and once she had disappeared behind the elevator doors, I went to the office to check in for my appointment. That process was fairly easy, and the wait, much to my surprise, wasn't long at all - rather, I was called in soon after sitting in one of the chairs past the reception desk, although I was still beyond relieved to be out of the waiting room in general. I really didn't want to be left alone with my apprehensions again - God only knew that I couldn't be trusted to dwell in my own thoughts indefinitely, and by that point, it was painfully clear that I had already worked myself up more than enough for one day. Thus, it was no small relief when the psychiatrist appeared in the doorway opposite to the main entrance, gesturing for me to follow. So far, her demeanor was straightforward, though not unkind; between not having an extended wait, and her altogether professional manner, I noticed that I'd calmed down considerably as I was led to the office where our meeting would take place.

That was, until I finally stepped _into_ the office itself.

Because once I was actually in there, I knew the anxiety that I'd sincerely believed was left behind on the drive out here had come right along with me, and had seemingly done so with a vengeance. The setup of the room, oddly, was one of the first things that piqued my overall discomfort then; its designer, whenever they'd last been hired for updates, had obviously tried to make this space feel like a library, like someone's personal study, instead of a physician's office, therefore ultimately resembling nothing of its medical origin. So much so, that it almost seemed possible to forget the key detail that I was in a county hospital, that we were, in fact, surrounded by illness and insanity and death. It was _possible_ to forget that, sure, but not a guarantee by any means, and as soon as I became aware of where I was once again, I immediately felt more unsettled than I could describe. It just all hit too close to home - the matter of concern suddenly upstaging everything else was that I was back in the same place that had nearly witnessed my death. Then, soon enough, I'd have to participate in the appointment that would essentially force me to relive those moments, to further analyze everything that happened the day I was shot.

Officially, this evaluation was meant to determine whether or not I would be able to come back to work at this hospital again - and, moreover, whether or not I was even _ready_ to make an attempt in the first place, or if my most recent near-death experience had proven to be the final traumatic event in my lifetime that had finally driven me insane once and for all, thus rendering me incapable of doing my job safely. Honestly, though, there were the odd moments, especially whenever I felt particularly bitter about my circumstances, that I'd had to wonder if insanity and ineffectiveness had been exactly what the outcome of being shot was for me; I certainly hadn't walked away from the incident mentally unscathed.

Leading up to this, I would've _loved_ to say that the steady lines of encouraging thoughts that Christine had been using to fight off my otherwise doubtful, if not outright pessimistic outlook would've gone with me into the real world, and that they could stay with me for as long as I might need them. Really, that would've been _so_ fantastic. Unfortunately, though, Christine's support, as well as the resilience that I'd deemed as a potential solution to my immediate problems in the initial moments of being in this office, was only easy to dedicate myself to in concept; however, the jury was out on my _actual_ ability to follow through with anything even remotely resembling self-confidence, or bravery, or whatever the hell else that I was apparently missing then. Like it or not, any cohesive decisions I thought about did not a successful outcome make. Everything was still unclear, and it would be for some time going forward - whether or not I could return to work, if my already-tentative mental health had fallen off the deep-end for good, even what that fall would do to my relationship with Christine...everything that I'd once known about my own life and had relied upon for its stability could go one way or another now. Today was just one aspect of that drawn-out uncertainty, but the gravity of its significance, its overlying potential for the return to normalcy, had outshined so many others.

I fucking hated all of it.

But there was no question that I needed to handle these issues, either. It was well past the right time for me to do so. I'd already made up my mind about it, had already determined that turning away from this evaluation and from everything that it represented, even if that only meant rescheduling this appointment for the time being, wasn't an appropriate course of action to take, nor would it be in my family's best interest - nevermind the fact that, quite frankly, I didn't exactly trust myself enough to believe that I would make a second go of the attempt if I _did_ decide to opt out. In the end, leaving would just serve to skew the evaluation process and delay recovery that much longer, and time wasn't on my side as it stood. If not for myself or Christine, then I had to at least bear in mind that the baby was due in the spring - for her sake, I _had_ to get my shit together long before she arrived.

So I ignored the screaming voice inside my head that kept demanding escape, nodding politely when the psychiatrist invited me to sit down as she took her own place across from me.

Voice bright, she began, "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Riley - "

" - Just Erik," I interrupted tersely, but then made an effort to correct myself, "Please."

She nodded, "It's nice to meet you, Erik. I'm Dr. St. James," she said, even though I'd already known that information, then gestured toward her companion, "This is Joshua Bradley, from risk management. He'll be observing while you and I talk."

Bradley approached and shook my hand, and we exchanged a nod at the introduction, but otherwise said nothing to one another as he retreated to his place nearby. Instead, I waited uncomfortably for Dr. St. James to get herself settled in.

I took off the surgical mask when prompted, enabling myself to be heard more clearly, but even then I did so hesitantly. I'd gotten used to being able to go without it throughout the day during my time away from work, and so I wasn't looking forward to having to take up the habit again. The only times I'd worn it during the last several weeks was over the holidays, on the few occasions when Christine had insisted that I venture out of the house with her to see Christmas light displays around our neighborhood, or take in whatever festivities hosted nearby that caught her interest. This past year was the first Christmas that both of us were off from work, and what she had considered to be the baby's first Christmas as well; she was intent on acknowledging that fact whenever she saw fit. So I'd gone along with her wishes, intent myself on staying as covered up as possible, but otherwise content in our situation, and that solution worked well for the both of us. But beyond those instances, I'd enjoyed relative freedom from feeling compelled to hide my scarring. Losing that freedom now was something else that was bothering me - just because I was _invited_ to show my face didn't mean I reveled in following through with it.

Considering that, I was noticeably tense by the time we'd finally finished exchanging the last of the more formal introductions, and Dr. St. James smiled knowingly, "You're nervous."

I cleared my throat at her conclusion, unsure of what to say in response, but eventually settling for a simple, "Yeah, a bit. Sorry."

"No need to be sorry. We'll just get started, alright?"

"Sure. But I don't exactly know how to do that."

"Well, there are no right or wrong answers, for one thing, and I'm not here to council you, or anything like that. Don't worry, or think of this as being under a microscope," she said, and I'd wondered it the scoff I made at that statement was obvious; it was hard to tell, as she continued unwaveringly, "Today, we mainly need to assess your ability to make treatment decisions in light of your own traumas. Especially since what happened to you took place in this hospital."

"Right…"

She paused thoughtfully - then, crossing her legs and holding her notepad as if this was a casual conversation, she spoke again, "Let's get to the basics. Are you seeing a counselor?"

"A social worker _for_ counseling, yes," I said, and it was easy enough to reveal that to her.

After the incident of nearly breaking the mirror in my bedroom post-anxiety attack some weeks ago, and the subsequent botched proposal that I'd made to Christine, there really was no longer a question of if I _should_ go back, but rather of _how_ _soon_ I'd be able to get an appointment. And while I'd resisted initially, resuming counseling sessions _had_ been helpful, at least as far as receiving much-needed therapy for my own sake was concerned; but since the social worker I was seeing now obviously wasn't affiliated with this hospital, any determinations that he'd made would pretty much be useless for answering questions related to my competence as a surgeon - at least from a legal standpoint - leaving me to speak to County's psychiatrist today, instead of staying home to mind my business.

Without missing a step, Dr. St. James just nodded sagely before going on to add to her information-gathering, "Your file says you've also had counseling after a suicide attempt?"

"Right, a few years ago."

"And that was here?"

"The counseling was here. So was the psych eval to let me start working at this hospital. The rest…" I paused nervously, "The attempt itself happened in New York."

Another knowing smile, a carefully-crafted expression of understanding that, even in spite of the professional detachment behind her eyes, had still felt sincere, "I'm glad you were able to get the help you needed," she said, and I gave her my own nod of acknowledgement in return, before she asked, "So, can I assume, since you work in trauma, that you've had to treat suicidal patients after your attempt?"

"Yes, sometimes."

"Have you ever found yourself having trouble with that? Sympathizing with them?"

I shrugged, tensing once more as I began to realize where her line of questioning was heading, "I _could_ sympathize with them, in some ways. But that's never meant that I've been unable to treat them properly."

"You don't feel that your judgment was clouded after coping with your own suicide?"

"Correct," I responded curtly.

"Good. That's very good," she said as she scribbled something on the paper in front of her, but she didn't seem offended by my tone, nor my demeanor. Then, when I distantly noted my surprise that she hadn't tried to look further into my status as a veteran, or the PTSD from my deployments, she was already asking instead, "What if a known criminal was brought into the ER and sent up to you for surgery, someone that had just shot people, hurt people. Do you think you could treat someone like _that_ without compromised judgment?"

"We generally aren't told what a patient's _occupation_ is when they get sent to the OR."

" _Generally_. But sometimes you _are_ made aware of details like that. Even if that's just by hearsay, some details slip through the cracks. Would you be able to treat a criminal if you were told beforehand that they'd just hurt other people?"

At that repeated question, I'd paused once more, well aware that Dr. St. James and Joshua Bradley were both watching my every move and reaction, gauging the meaning and outcome of each; in turn, I needed to remind myself again not to skirt around the more difficult questions like the one I was facing now, that I was supposed to come out of this appointment with an accurate determination of future patients' safety under my care. Although involved, this process wasn't solely for recovery on my part. So I spoke honestly, "At this point, I don't know."

"Can you explain why?" she pressed softly, but when I froze up again, when I couldn't bring myself to provide an answer, weighed down by fighting recurring anxiety, she continued, "That's alright. We'll set that one aside for now. What about this, do you think you could treat a patient in a similar position that you were in?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know that you'd had a close call in the ER the day of the shooting, that Dr. Khan and Dr. Moreno were at odds about how to proceed with your care," she said, and the knowledge that Dr. Moreno had resigned from his position in this hospital shortly after the event - that he'd requested a transfer out of this urban environment - pulled at my conscience, though I couldn't say why then. Regardless, it wasn't my place to mention that anyway, and so I just listened as Dr. St. James went on, "I know experiences like that can affect a physician long after the fact. It can change their entire outlook on medicine. We definitely aren't going to reprimand Dr. Khan for following his instincts with you, but still, we also need to be sure that, if and when you have your own patient that's past a point in their care that's compatible with life, that you'll be able to see when enough is enough, instead of relying on the second chance you had."

"You're saying you don't want me to develop a god-complex."

"Exactly."

"I'm pretty sure my combined cynicism and agnosticism should keep that in check."

She laughed good-naturedly at that - but she recovered quickly, then looked at me with an evenness that suggested it was time for me to give her a real response.

However, she didn't say anything to prompt an immediate answer, either, or to sway my words in any direction; and even though I'd anticipated a question more or less like this one, I was still grateful to have another moment to step back and consider what I wanted to say before I actually spoke again. Because this was a complicated position for me to be in, no matter which way I looked at it - I _was_ dead, for all intents and purposes, and the fact that Nadir and Christine had fought to keep trying with me, the fact that those efforts even worked in the first place, was nothing short of a fucking miracle. I had gone over it so many times in my mind, and frankly, I never could come up with any other explanation as to why I was alive. Lately, I'd been working through the remaining survivor's guilt, but that wouldn't be the end of what I had left to settle, so Dr. St. James was absolutely right to ask me to think seriously about how my experiences could potentially affect my ability to be rational when I was put in the opposite role, the moment that I resumed that of the doctor and not of the victim. Ideally, exercising restraint, being realistic was the goal in all trauma cases - not everyone could be as trusting in a successful outcome as Nadir was with me that day - but as Dr. St. James had just said, a certain shift in one's outlook was to be expected, and I needed to be mindful of its presence.

Focusing on that notion then, I was at least able to give one of my responses with a measure of confidence, an attitude I tried to duplicate when I said, "I realize that what happened to me is a one-in-a-million thing, and I don't think I'd act beyond standard measures because of what happened, if a patient really was past help...But I also have to acknowledge that I haven't put that theory into practice yet. That bears mentioning..."

"So, would you be amenable to receiving help on that front? Willing to have consultations if someone was ever concerned about your treatment plan?"

"Yes," I replied slowly, wanting to make sure that my intent, that my offer of compliance to her suggestion, was clear, "I'd be amenable to that."

She wrote something else down, most likely making a note about what I'd just agreed to, then nodded, "Let's backtrack a bit for a minute. Have you been to the hospital since the day of the shooting? The file I have doesn't say you were transferred, or - "

" - No, I wasn't transferred, I was treated in the SICU, then in the recovery ward. But I haven't been back in this building at all since I was released. I've been outside for my girlfriend, but that's it, and I always tried not to think about it," I said, and then explained at Dr. St. James' questioning glance, "My girlfriend's an intern in oncology this year. So, I've dropped her off for her shifts a few times, just...I don't know, just trying to get out of the house. But like I said, that's been the extent of being here. I haven't wanted to walk in at all, it was hard enough for me even coming to this hospital today," I scoffed again, laughing humorlessly when asked for clarification, "I had a panic attack on the road while we were driving in."

That was another truth that was easy to share then. I'd avoided Chicago as a whole for weeks - aside from the few of occasions that I'd offered to drive Christine out to work, I hadn't even gone to the neighborhood where the hospital was located, for God's sake. I had _no_ reason whatsoever to venture back during my extended leave of absence, and moreover, I really hadn't felt any overwhelming desire to return to begin with, either.

"You know, keeping some distance is a perfectly reasonable response to everything you've been through. You're making progress, though."

"I'll take your word for it."

She smiled, "Erik, believe it or not, the fact that you _did_ walk in, that you're sitting here with me now, _is_ progress," she insisted, and I knew that she was right. Somewhere in my mind, those words rang true - I only needed to repeat them to myself, and as many times as would be necessary for them to come back more easily than they were now. Then, when I didn't respond to the encouragement, Dr. St. James approached our conversation from another angle, "What would you do if you weren't an active surgeon?"

Caught off-guard by the sudden shift in the topic, it took me another moment to think my words through before I grasped her meaning. If nothing else, I knew that I wanted to protect my livelihood, to do everything I could in order to keep my career on course. Years before, if asked, I don't think that I would've been nearly as interested in salvaging any aspect of job security, if it came down to it. I was too far gone by then to care. It was only within the last year or so that I'd pulled myself out of my job-related depression and resignation to see the inherent value in my place in surgery, even that it was rewarding at times - enough to want to fight for at least some semblance of it now.

So I explained, "I'd probably take a faculty position, or something like that while I waited out my tenure. But I'm not there yet."

"How would you know if you were 'there'?"

"I'd just know it wouldn't be right to do anything else. Not yet. I'm not ready to stop practicing medicine."

To that, she said pointedly, "So you want stay on as a surgeon at this hospital," and at my affirmative nod, she asked, "Even at the cost of treating the same kind of person that shot you and your coworkers? _Could_ you treat that kind of a person?"

Frustrated now, I sighed, hesitating in that instant in order to buy myself some more time, then simply repeated my earlier statement, "I haven't put that theory into practice yet."

"Is that something you'd _want_ to put into practice?"

"I don't think I'd have a _choice_ ," I snapped, "If, for whatever reason, I was told that part of a patient's background before they got to me, I know I might not even have time to find someone else to take over for me if I _did_ take issue with the patient. It's happened before, I've had to treat rapists and pedophiles and the worst possible kinds of human scum, largely because there just wasn't any time to ask for a consultation to pass them off to someone else. I've _hated_ having to save them on principle, but they'd never directly harmed me, either, so I sucked it up, repeated my goddamned oath, and just got it over with. Now, if I ended up with someone that instigated a shootout, I don't even have the degree of separation I'd had with the others. It's a fucking mess."

"And I _am_ sorry that this is the reality for you, Erik. I am, it's terrible. But I want to help you here, so I need to know, if something like this happened and you _did_ have the time, would you think to ask a colleague to take your place in surgery? Could you bring yourself to do that?"

Sighing again at her placating tone, I calmed myself down once more and shook my head, "At first...I don't know. Honestly, I think I might have to," I admitted.

Yet to my surprise, Dr. St. James didn't seem to pass any harsh judgments against me at that admission then, nor did Joshua Bradley, and once more I forced myself to recall that this was another of the main reasons for this evaluation - I didn't need to impress anyone, or always say the right things. I just needed to parse through the most likely problems that would arise in these kinds of scenarios, to find a way to move past them when they did eventually complicate my work. In reminding myself of that point, I felt my confidence steadily return again, sincerely believed that I was beyond the worst of this appointment.

But then, she said, "Next, I need you to walk me through the day of the shooting."

I immediately shook my head, "I can't. I don't remember most of it."

Which, of course, was a damn lie. Some of the minor elements of that day _were_ lost by then, either to time or as an expected result of the severity of my injuries. But for me to actually say that I didn't remember most of it was simply a _lie_ , and I knew that. For one thing, gunshots carry with them a very distinct sound, one that almost echoes in the memories that they occupy - I had mistaken other, similar sounds for them in the past, but I was able to correct the mistake quickly when I had to even so. Otherwise, I knew that sound well enough from my deployments, was reacquainted with it in spades when I'd been shot myself. Nevermind every _other_ detail that kept hanging on, nevermind that I still woke up from nightmares where I saw the gunman's face, where I heard the voices innocent people screaming around me. _Of_ _course_ I'd remembered the more disturbing details from the shooting. But that day was one that I _was_ _not_ willing to relive.

Ignorant to what I was thinking then, Dr. St. James said aptly just the same, "I doubt that, and hiding what you can remember isn't healthy."

"Didn't you say you weren't here to council me?"

She nodded, but then, "That doesn't mean I can't offer you my insight. Please, tell me what you _do_ remember," she prompted, "I want you to be able to go back to work, but I can't do that in good conscience if I'm not given the whole story."

Even as I processed those words, I knew what I _wanted_ to say to them in return; I knew that, rather than give her what she was asking for, I'd wanted to say that I wasn't handling _any_ of this well after all, and that I was ready to forfeit altogether, despite the fact that I had believed the exact opposite only moments ago. It felt wise then to admit that I'd struggled with the prospect of this day for weeks, since the instant that this appointment was made. In my stress-addled mind, it didn't matter that I'd made it this far into the appointment itself, I couldn't talk about the shooting now - honestly, the whole experience could've happened in an entirely different lifetime from this one, for all it was connected to these moments, for all the power it still held over me. Somehow, it seemed so incredibly _distant_ this many weeks down the line, warped and unreal. And anyway, this discussion with Dr. St. James was drastically different from all of my past instances related to talking about the hospital - it felt far less safe or controlled than doing so had been in therapy.

Rather, it sent me into a panic, and I _had_ to tell her that.

But I stalled the attempt all at once - it was impossible to speak, to explain any of this to her. Regardless of what she knew about me, I didn't know her, and she hadn't been there. _She hadn't been there that day_ , and so it didn't matter to me how many years she'd been working in her field, how well-respected she was in the department. I couldn't explain this away to someone that hadn't witnessed the nightmare firsthand. Not entirely for lack of trying, I just couldn't explain it, and so it seemed that I would be forced to continue harboring it instead; I had to wonder then if coming here in the first place was a mistake. It clearly wasn't going as planned, nor did I believe it would help in the end. The overall evaluation process was too much for me - I sincerely didn't think I could participate anymore, regardless of its obvious necessity. The constant push-pull of anxiety that resulted had reminded me distantly of a wave I couldn't even _hope_ to escape; it was terrifying. Yet at the same time, I was also incredibly _fucking_ _tired_ of feeling so much lingering anxiety at all - tired of feeling like my life was no longer my own, and only because of something happened that was beyond my control. It was exhausting, and never something I'd wanted to go through - certainly not after waiting so many years to find even the smallest piece of happiness. I'd had that before the shooting - I wanted _that_ life back.

It was with the idea - however distant it was for the time being - of attempting to restore the sense of normalcy I had come to rely on that I'd seriously started to think that I _could_ have it again. If not, then I was sure this state of blindly wandering through the past, and barely looking ahead of me all the while, wasn't going to work for much longer. Something had to give before I collapsed again, and I didn't want to wait and see what would give in the end. Objectively, a part of me could understand that going over the day of the shooting in sharp detail was the last, and probably worst hurdle left in this evaluation. Continuing to avoid revisiting the event at this point, even to tell half-truths and dismiss any of the concerns that were related to it after coming this far was unacceptable. I had to keep going now, had to take these questions and each response more seriously, because I knew that not doing so was risking more than I could afford to lose. I couldn't justify burying my head in the sand and pretending that giving up was an option.

So, finally, I responded with the truth.


	34. Bless the Broken Road

**Author's Note:** _Welcome back (yet again) y'all! Thank you thank you thank you for sticking around and much love to ya for it. Here we're finally making some progress, and as such, just a quick note to please bear in mind that **this story is not over yet!** We've still got quite a ways to go before the end of it, so sit tight and be on the lookout for more updates, which should start to come about more regularly again now that my semester/MA is winding down (scary that they're actually letting me be a master of anything, but hey, it's English lit, after all :P). Anywhoodles, on that note, please let me know what y'all thought of this chapter, etc. etc., you know the drill. Finally, the title of this chapter comes from the Rascal Flats song of the same name. Enjoy!_

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Chapter 26 - Bless the Broken Road

Erik

I would be lying if I didn't admit that there were several points - even once I'd resolved to be honest after the psychiatrist had asked me to take her through the day of the shooting, and to explain whatever I could remember in detail - wherein I was certain that I might actually have to stand up and walk out of that office entirely, never looking back on it again. However dramatic, the notion was unbelievably tempting just the same. Getting through that conversation obviously wasn't easy - but even so, seeing it through to the end still felt like a significant accomplishment on my part, all things considered. So, rather than obsessing over the difficulties I'd had leading up to it, I chose to focus solely _on_ that accomplishment instead. I _needed_ to focus on it, alongside each positive takeaway that Dr. St. James had so carefully reminded me about while we spoke. Because otherwise, I knew that I'd only end up dwelling on the negative aspects of the day that had stayed in my mind, and little else. That was one part of my overlying problems in the first place, falling down into negativity. I had to keep going forward; hindering that progress in any way was just another brand of slow self-destruction that I couldn't excuse. Preventing it whenever possible, as I was trying to now, was far better than the alternative.

When all was said and done with Dr. St. James and the risk management coordinator, I was eventually cleared to ease myself back into my role in the surgical department, doing so at a relatively slow pace before I would be completely reinstated to work at full capacity. Once that was done, my former duties and privileges would resume in turn, or so I had been told. In reality, though, none of that would be happening at all until a very specific list of conditions was met first, which, when I thought about it logically, _was_ fair. The main caveat attached to my dismissal from the meeting with Dr. St James, in the end - other than being informed that I'd only take my patients on a limited basis initially - was that I would need to check in with her at least every other week during the coming months, ceasing those visits at her discretion alone, in addition to keeping up regular appointments with my own social worker. Then, whenever I did start taking shifts again, I was instructed to sign over the demanding cases to other surgeons as well, doing so whenever necessary until I'd had a handful of check-ins to my name without showing any red flags. From there, everything else that was left to handle was largely a matter of adhering to formalities, and making sure my mental health stayed intact in the meantime.

Altogether, my livelihood had become tentative, though it wasn't absolutely hopeless any longer; my attempt to continue working at the hospital wouldn't be easy, nor would I have a quick transition back into familiar waters. But even so, reaching this agreement with Dr. St. James and the risk management department was simple enough - considerably more so than I'd expected. The worst of it really had been the arrival _to_ the agreement, and that was over and done with, the upsetting elements of everything I felt had been parsed through during the appointment itself. By the time the clock had counted down the minutes remaining, I had gone over hurdle after hurdle after hurdle, passing the better part of that morning doing exactly what I had dreaded for so long, but doing so was still a hell of a lot better than the outright avoidance that had been so appealing to me before, because it meant I was doing something _right_ ; I knew I would do well to remember that in the future.

Recounting each point of this new information to Christine, when we'd met up again after my appointment, took only moments for me to say - but sharing that information with her was a substantial relief to me all the same.

"I'm proud of you, babe," she said once I'd finished speaking. As I replaced my surgical mask and murmured my thanks to her, she beamed up at me while we waited side-by-side at the elevator banks to leave psychiatry - her smile then a serene expression that I always loved to see in her. She'd kept a trace of that smile even as we arrived in oncology.

As we walked in, however, I strongly suspected that _this_ version of the smile had more to do with her excitement over telling our friends and colleagues about the baby than it did about any pride she felt on my behalf; to be honest, I was grateful when that relatively carefree energy seemed to pass on to me as well. I wouldn't say that I felt it to the same degree that she had, but I did feel immensely better than I had the last time we were together just before my appointment, and that undeniable contrast had helped to ease some of the awkwardness that I'd probably feel under different circumstances. All eyes were on us as Christine gathered as many people as she could in the doctor's lounge, saying simply once enough people were there with us that we were going to have a baby girl in the spring, and that she'd wanted to finally share the news with them. Some of them had initially appeared surprised, others less so. Still, I didn't take the time - nor did I have any great desire - to speculate about the few less-than shocked responses I saw. If we were the subject of inter-departmental gossip, then this wouldn't be the first time, and very likely wouldn't be the last. And anyway, compared to the bigger picture, I knew from experience that there were much worse reasons to garner unwanted attention from one's coworkers than through talk of an unplanned pregnancy. Better that talk come from good news than bad.

Christine fielded each congratulatory response that followed, prompting me to contribute only every now and again, thank God. For the most part, she was content to continue acting as the mouthpiece for the both of us, and she shone in the role. So, I just stood on the edges of her fragmented conversations - some of them about whether or not we'd decided on a name, others about possible baby shower plans to come, or of due dates, of everything else that was so new to our colleagues that we'd been living with for several weeks already. I'd actually almost smiled at the notion, the near-absurdity of how _normal_ this felt even now - even as it was still technically brand-new. We were first-time parents by all accounts, yet we'd found - or were at least gaining - so many answers to that many more questions. We were actively making sure that we would be ready for our daughter's arrival long before that day came, and we were doing fairly well with the process at that. Everything about our situation was still so surreal, but it ultimately felt right.

That thought, though, was interrupted suddenly when Meg appeared at my side, pulling me away from the larger group with the obvious intention of speaking to me directly.

Once she'd seemed to determine that we were far enough away from anyone that might overhear us, she began with feigned casualness, "Christine said you're supposed to be heading back to work soon, yeah?"

I nodded, "That's the plan."

"Good. It sounds like you're doing better, then."

"I think so."

"Well, you know I'm still mad at you," she said almost primly. And while I'd immediately appreciated that she'd dropped the standard play of decorum as quickly as it had been adopted, I couldn't deny my resulting annoyance that we were having this conversation again, either - so much so that I'd nearly missed her next words, "But I _am_ glad you're getting back to surgery."

That statement, I didn't doubt at all - _but,_ I also didn't doubt that she was just as angry as she'd claimed. Meg had been more than understanding when Christine left their lease and came out to Schamberg to live with me, had even attempted to extend that understanding further when Christine later informed her friend that we'd stay together as a couple despite our near-breakup. But, in the end, Meg's patient generosity had only extended so far where I was concerned, and she'd been brutally honest about her reservations toward me. Still, although I wasn't necessarily surprised by her protectiveness, and although I didn't expect to be forgiven instantly for my past transgressions, it was disappointing to me just the same that, in my mind, I was being punished for them this long after the fact, in one way or another. In this case, even though Meg and I had really never been close friends, we _had_ been friends to a degree through Christine. In turn, the tension existing between us now was unwelcome, but I wasn't willing to grovel to lessen it; I was tired of having everything I'd done wrong held against me - it wasn't helping. But while I believed that Christine recognized that ineffectiveness as well as I had, she also wasn't inclined or ready to let go of the pain of my mistakes entirely, and thus Meg was prepared to go to bat for her at all times, and so I'd had no idea whatsoever of how to handle this part of the situation in that regard.

So, it just made the most sense to resolve that I simply wasn't going to upset Christine by dwelling on my conflict with Meg in the meantime, that I wasn't going to do anything to make her feel like she had to choose between me and her best friend, especially with the baby on the way. We'd had more than enough going on as it stood.

Sighing as I reminded myself to focus on that idea, I lowered my voice and responded, "Believe me, Meg, I _do_ know you're still mad at me. So can we call a truce at some point soon? It's been too hard on Christine to think that you and I aren't getting along. She cares about you."

"Right. And I care about her. Which is why I don't like the idea that the man she loves _so_ _much_ could be so ready to walk out on her. And why I don't like the idea that she's still _living_ _with_ that man even though he could easily break her heart again."

"Why don't you just tell me what you _really_ think," I bit back, smiling sardonically. Then, feeling petty, went on to argue, "You accepted us living together when it first happened - "

" - When it _first_ happened, being the key word - "

" - Besides, you know it wasn't that simple, so - "

" - But I've had a lot of time to worry about her - "

" - _So_ _don't_ act like I'm not looking out for her best interest - "

" - Relax," Meg interrupted, holding her hands up in as placating a manner as she could probably find within herself, "I know that's what you're doing, Erik, and I know that's not the only reason you've stayed with her. Look, I'm not wanting to get into it with you again here, alright? I just wanted you to know where I stand."

"Just in case I suddenly forgot?"

"That would be correct. Just in case."

In spite of my frustration, I had to laugh at that. I respected her honesty, if nothing else, and therefore opted then not to press the issue; this was neither the time nor the place to do so, nevermind that I didn't want to burn more bridges with this woman than I already had.

Before either of us could add anything to our stubborn exchange, Christine approached, her stance purposeful as she grew closer. Taking my arm in both of her hands once she was beside me again - a gesture of mingled affection and means of keeping me calm, I assumed - she said, "I hope I don't need to put you two in a time-out."

"Of course not," Meg responded brightly. Then, embracing Christine quickly and kissing her on the cheek in parting, continued, "Congratulations again and again and again! So, we'll talk more later, alright? Oh," she added when she began to walk away, "Don't forget to tell Samantha before you leave. She'll want to get in on baby shower planning ASAP."

Once Meg was gone, once we were more or less left alone there in the doctor's lounge, the others needing to get back to their own work by then as well, Christine asked me, "Was she telling the truth? Or should I have interrupted your argument sooner?"

"We weren't arguing, sweetheart," I responded wearily - it wasn't the first time I had needed to give her this reassurance, although at least my words were closer to being honest this time than they had in the past, "Everything's fine, we just need to keep working this out."

She said nothing else to that, and from there we'd quickly decided that now was a good chance to leave oncology to make our way to surgery. Christine took the communicative reins when we arrived there, just as she'd done in her own department, and I was grateful once more for her continued initiative. The scene there had played out very much the same as before. Her announcement was met with a similar blend of excitement and bemusement, of surprise and speculation, followed by rapid-fire congratulations and of prying questions - it truly felt as if everyone that was present had referred back to the same script as their peers. Still, for the most part, I didn't think anyone was being insincere, so I just listened and responded whenever it was polite to do so, otherwise appreciating them with my silence. However, out of all of the people that were working on the surgical service that day, there was one voice that had remained conspicuously absent throughout and after we'd finished sharing our news - Raoul Chaney was there in our lounge, and he had obviously heard everything that was being said around him, but he'd said nothing in return even so.

To an extent, Christine and I _had_ expected as much from him; yet it was still impossible for me to miss the look of hurt and disappointment that had flashed in Christine's eyes following Chaney's poorly-disguised brush-off, the pained expression staying there long enough for me to see just how badly her oldest friend's disapproval affected her, before she schooled her features back to mock-contentment.

"Do you need to go talk to him?" I whispered a short time later, subtly pulling her away from a group of interns for a moment to address her lingering agitation, to try to find even the most half-assed solution for it, if that's what it came down to - if doing so would somehow help her feel better, because her pain was terrible to witness, "Or do you want me to say something to him?"

"It's fine, Erik. I knew he'd be upset."

"Upset, sure. But now he just looks pissed off."

"Then let him be pissed off. I'm not responsible for how he reacts to my business."

Catching her gaze again, I looked at her more closely for a time, gauging her words, her demeanor - gauging whether or not I _did_ in fact need to act in her defense then, regardless of her insistence that I leave this alone instead. Ultimately, I determined that engaging with Chaney that day would only be a mistake. Christine was right, she wasn't responsible for his poor reaction to something that didn't involve him; neither of us were, and making a scene wouldn't accomplish anything. So, I kissed her forehead and accepted her words, hoping that the small gesture would at least be of some comfort to her, and turned us both around to talk to Dr. Reyes. She had been in mid-approach by then, already starting her own long succession of questions, smiling at us as she walked; with that earnest expression, I decided to enjoy the coming conversation and ignore everything else that had happened before it. Not for the first time that day, I reminded myself that this experience should be one that we'd immersed ourselves in entirely - I wasn't about to let Chaney's bitterness destroy it. We couldn't speak freely for the time being, but I could only hope that Christine might find the same determination as I had; she'd deserved far better than having her past come back and collapse the happiness that we were building now.

~~oOo~~

When I began taking half-shifts at the hospital again some time later, it was immediately apparent that I had been away from surgery for far too long; inactivity had slowed me down even during relatively simpler cases. It had taken first admitting to my wounded pride for one-on-one mentoring time with Dr. Reyes, along with several visits to the skills lab over at the UIC medical school to practice those once-familiar procedures, before I felt comfortable taking on the serious surgical cases on my own once more. Starting out, I'd done just as Dr. St. James had required of me and only accepted certain patients, among her other conditions, but stepping back all the while and focusing on getting familiar with the tools of my profession again, I was able to realize that there were benefits to keeping my mind occupied as I readjusted to an environment that, though indirectly, had nearly killed me; it wasn't easy - exactly as I had assumed it wouldn't be - but after time I _was_ ready to walk through the doors of my department without my anxiety taking control, able to go down to the emergency room for a case or consultation without succumbing to a state of all-out panic from the memories it would now always hold. That didn't strictly mean that I wasn't _entirely_ without lingering dread over my circumstances, but it was a dread that was more manageable than it had been in the beginning, and I counted that as a small victory.

For a while, I was given a wider berth by my colleagues than what I'd already been used to, making my presence in the department that much more awkward than I would've preferred, even compared to my own standoffish, isolated treatment of them in the past. But although their distance was markedly different from what it had been before, part of me _could_ understand that distance - part of me could understand in turn that none of us knew about any exact methods of moving on with the day-to-day of surgery after what had happened in our hospital. Nothing in the world could've ever truly prepared us for that singularly life-altering event, and we'd all reacted to it in exceedingly different ways, from what I'd been told by the few people that were still willing to discuss it with me. Making up my mind to ignore my subsequent frustrations, I had instead just accepted yet another unanticipated outcome of the shooting, letting the present situation play out in whichever other ways it was meant to, and go from there. Honestly, without that perspective, I was fairly certain that I would've been driven insane by such strange events.

 _But_ , just my luck, those strange events didn't mean that everyone I worked with had chosen to avoid me altogether. As it turned out, I'd still had Chaney to deal with on a regular basis, much more closely now than before I returned as if by design, and with our recent discord added to our interactions at that. After the day Christine and I made our announcement about the baby, she hadn't spoken to Chaney once, nor had he seemed to make any clear efforts to reach out to her; the source of their animosity was obvious, and yet the immutable truth of their shared past had done nothing to help Christine feel any better about it since that strain on the friendship was first introduced. But while I had to encounter him almost daily as per the requirements given to the interns, he was at least smart enough not to start any arguments, smart enough not to try to mention Christine at work. And anyway, there simply wasn't much either of us could do when one party wasn't willing to communicate outside of the workplace, and therefore Christine made me promise not to confront Chaney about how he'd upset her with his reaction. Grudgingly, I'd agreed to that promise, and I intended to keep it unless or until Chaney forced my hand.

Despite my immense dislike for the man, though, I really didn't have a reason to believe that he _would_ start any arguments until one late-afternoon proved otherwise.

A decidedly chaotic shift had left me exhausted, and as soon as I saw the opportunity to do so, I secured an empty surface at the admit-desk to finish up my charting for the day, grateful to finally be standing still even as I'd had to stay hunched over to an extent to get my work done. Lacking any better location that wasn't already taken over by groups of doctors and nurses, I felt comfortable settling there for as long as I needed. For the most part, those that passed me while I reviewed file after file left me alone, and the droning sounds from within the department steadily became their own kind of background noise, rather than a distraction. Beyond pausing to check my phone and respond to messages there every now and again, I wasn't interrupted at all until Dr. Reyes approached to ask a question, but even then, the discussion that came about from it was short-lived, and I didn't foresee anything else delaying the handful of charts I'd had left. But then, as I returned to what I'd been doing and Reyes tried to leave again, a group of interns and residents had rushed by, Chaney among them in the overcrowded section of the hallway before the admit-desk, and when he'd gone past Reyes, he had also pushed her directly into my side as he moved. I tensed at the sudden and forceful contact, gave an audible sign that I was in pain as a result, and both of them stayed next to me and immediately began to apologize.

I wanted to yell at Chaney then and there for his carelessness, wanted to accuse him of running into Dr. Reyes on purpose. But even though I knew that he wasn't currently my biggest fan, I also knew that this incident hadn't happened because of any malice on his part - he was petty, sure, but unprovoked physical retaliation was beneath him.

Besides, in all fairness, it was my own fault that the contact was so painful to begin with - I'd been too careful with the healing surgical incisions on my chest and stomach while I was in recovery, and as such, had allowed stiff scar tissue to develop over the months between then and now. That wasn't an uncommon occurrence following such an invasive procedure, but the scar tissue had gotten sensitive, and being caught off-guard like this with one wrong move had always sent shots of pain through me. The physical discomfort wasn't really something I took issue with for long, wasn't something that was too difficult to get past - rather, it was these small, unexpected reminders of what happened that bothered me well after the fact, and always whenever I felt like I was getting back to normal. Case in point, I was able to come to work for all of my shifts for weeks by then, yet bumping into someone, just as I'd done a thousand times before getting shot, was now a problem; because it _hurt_ , and because it made me think for far too long on the memories about _why_ it hurt.

I was so beyond fed up with those memories, still so unbelievably angry about them, even as I'd distantly realized that this incident would need to be addressed with Dr. St. James the next time we saw each other. If I hadn't forcefully reminded myself about my promise to Christine, I would've _loved_ to yell at Raoul Chaney then simply for the sake of fully shifting my focus back to the present. He could've easily been the target of my ire. Incidentally, it was Dr. Reyes that had inadvertently taken on the role of shifting focus herself, saving me the hassle.

"Are you alright? Hey, look at me" she demanded, and probably a demand that was repeated, if her tone was any indicator of how little I'd paid attention during the last few moments.

Drawing myself to stand up straight, I cleared my throat, "Yeah...just adhesions."

"You haven't been working on them?"

"Does it look like I have?"

She sighed, "Erik, you can't let scar tissue get out of hand like this. There's PT that can help with it, and other things. And _you_ of all people should know that."

I raised my hands in an exaggerated gesture of defeat, "I'll take care of it."

Seemingly appeased, she nodded, "Make sure you do," then added with a wry smile, "I really don't want anyone questioning my work."

"You maimed my blackbird tattoo, your work speaks for itself."

Laughing at my mock-indignation, she waved dismissively as she turned to leave, "Take better care of yourself, Dr. Riley."

Though amused, I didn't call after her to give a response - I intended to finish what I'd started so that I could end my shift and get out of the hospital. No more delays. I was tired, and I missed Christine; more than anything else, I'd only wanted to be home with her. But Chaney had lingered nearby during my exchange with Reyes, seeming to be waiting for me to acknowledge him there. So, suppressing the urge once more to yell at him, I just asked, "May I help you?"

"I didn't know you had tattoos."

I scoffed, "We both know that's a lie. You've seen me in scrubs every time we've gotten ready for a surgery together, so you've seen my tattoos - "

" - Ah, that's right...But, yeah, so I'd mostly just wanted to say again that I'm sorry," he stammered, which I found rather uncharacteristic, sweeping a hand absently toward my chest, "We were trying to get to a morbidity and mortality presentation downstairs. So, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"Alright...well, thanks. It's fine," I said, thinking that he'd cleared his conscience and expecting that to be the end of it; but when he _still_ didn't leave, I nearly snapped, "Is that all?"

Leaning against the edge of the admit-desk, he replied, "No, I guess not. I was also just wondering how you were doing, how work's been since you've gotten back."

Good _Lord_ , was he serious? I'd always hated small-talk - I _loathed_ small-talk, actually. Nothing could make me enjoy participating in that awful social expectation with anyone, nevermind that I was so unwillingly partnered with Chaney for this particular ordeal, and nevermind that he had seen me almost every shift since I'd returned to work anyway. We didn't need to have any drawn-out, intimate conversations for him to gain an accurate enough idea of how I was doing since then. I hadn't completely lost my mind during a shift yet, didn't believe I would any time soon, and none of my patients had died under my care. On the whole, I thought I was doing well with what I had. And at this point, Chaney was really only succeeding in filling the air with empty words, because every piece of information that he was asking for had never been kept a secret. He'd had no real reason _to_ ask; or, if he was absolutely intent on knowing something, then he could've at least had the sense of courtesy to consult the rumor-mill before bothering me about it. But still, his concern _had_ seemed sincere enough, so I made myself bite back my escalating annoyance, uncomfortably aware that the people around us could hear most of what we were saying, and decided instead to act generously toward him - perhaps more so than I might have otherwise.

Even so, my response was succinct, given that way primarily with the hope that he would take a hint from my brevity, "Work's been fine, I'm doing better," I shrugged, "There's not much else to report, though."

"Oh. Well, that's good. We were all kind of surprised that you came back at all, actually," he continued, "Since Moreno didn't, and - "

" - _Stop_ ," I cut him off. Out of already-limited patience, only then did I begin to wonder if he had ulterior motives behind this discussion, because his train of thought now felt out of place, and was rapidly becoming intrusive. Noting that, I continued sharply, "Why are you talking about that, Chaney?"

But he was unfazed by my anger, "It's only an observation."

"Your choice of observation is impeccable," I ground out. By then, whether or not he _did_ have anything specific to say to me, I didn't care to stay long enough to find out what it was; my scars were still bothering me enough to be distracting, I'd had work to do, and I truly just wanted this irritating half-conversation to be _over_ , wanted to be able to bow out as politely as I could, and I needed that to happen immediately.

Chaney, however, had other ideas, "So, you and Christine are having a baby."

 _And, there it is. Finally._

At that, I nearly rolled my eyes and laughed in his face in quick succession - it had taken him long enough to get to his point, and while I was shocked when realized that I hadn't guessed what it was sooner, I still made sure to answer curtly, to stand at my full height, "We are."

"Do you guys know what you're having yet? Or does Christine want to be surprised? She didn't want to find out with ours, boy or girl," he went on - as if he wasn't actually talking to me then, and I didn't miss the emphasis that he put on certain words, didn't miss exactly _how_ deliberate this look into his shared past with Christine was.

I didn't want to play along - but I also couldn't stop myself from saying rather arrogantly all the same, just to spite him, "We're having a girl. Christine made sure we found out together."

Chaney nodded stiffly to that, and almost instantly losing his thunder, he relented from whatever the hell he'd started, saying only in response, "That's good...Um, I'm sure you're both really looking forward to having a daughter. Congratulations to you both," then, shifting partly away from me, he added, "Anyway, I need to get going. Have a good afternoon."

"Should I tell Christine you said hi?" I asked pointedly, ignoring his attempt to leave this on his own terms and trying to get him to just call a spade a goddamned spade instead, "Or do _you_ want to be the one to call and say it yourself. I think you owe her an apology, if nothing else."

"Just...just tell her I send my best."

"Right, I'll do that," I said as he turned away, then muttered to his retreating form when he was out of earshot, simply because I was feeling particularly vindictive, "You fucking prick."

Working on anything substantial after that uncomfortable meeting felt impossible, even once I was left alone again, and it wasn't long at all before I'd decided to accept defeat and take the charts home with me; I could get them done there just as thoroughly as I could at the hospital, if not more so from improved concentration.

As I gathered up the charts and stopped to get a few things out of my locker, I determined that I wouldn't allow another conflict like the one I'd just experienced with Chaney to take place again - that was completely out of the question, bar none, because it had unnerved me, and because there was no way in hell that I wanted my personal and professional lives to combine with one another. I never _had_ wanted that, and it felt like a lifetime had passed since the last time I'd had a legitimate reason to _have_ _to_ draw explicit lines between the two worlds. Those were lines that I unquestionably would not concede to crossing - to even being blurred - and coming as close to doing so as today had at least served to reaffirm the merit behind my long-established professional standpoint. In being perfectly honest, I shouldn't have let myself get placed into that position to begin with, but I wouldn't make that mistake again. I _would_ have to tell Christine about what had happened that day between myself and Chaney, but going forward, that was going be the end of my regard toward the man outside of surgery. The last thing either Christine or I had needed was an ongoing conflict with anyone, and I didn't want to add more stress to Christine's life when she'd already had so much, but she also had the right to know the truth whenever it involved her, and this instance certainly had.

When I got home an hour or so later, I found Christine upstairs in our bedroom, laying sprawled in the middle of the bed under her favorite throw blankets, Rex and Willow lounging dutifully nearby. She had _Futurama_ playing on her laptop set up on one of the nightstands, although at first glance, she didn't appear to be watching the show with any obvious interest, light entertainment though it was. Judging by those details as I walked into the room, I knew that she'd had a rough day without having to ask - after her relatively easier shifts, if she had the time, she would go over new publications or case study notes from her coworkers, or raid our now-combined bookshelves and read for fun, usually saving television for relaxing before she went to sleep, if at all. But even then, she _would_ watch whatever she'd decided to play. That she was neither working nor engaging with the cartoon that she had chosen then spoke volumes about the kind of day she'd experienced, and almost out of nowhere, my heart ached for her. Wordlessly, I moved to lie down beside her, kissing her before she could say anything to me first. It was all I could do for her then for simply _being_ , and still I knew it would never be enough. She did so much for the people she loved, she genuinely cared about the patients she treated in her specialty; she was so _good_ , and she deserved _every_ _bit_ of good that she put out into the world returned to her tenfold.

Yet that wasn't always the case - of course it wasn't, and I hated that it wasn't always the case, hated the fact that there would inevitably be something that tipped the balance against her. I knew that I had to tell her about what had happened to offset an otherwise uneventful workday, and that maybe it was one such situation that wouldn't feel quite so upsetting once some time had separated us from the bad blood that inspired it. But these were circumstances that I would just as soon have hidden from her completely nonetheless. Because I also knew that, in spite of how inconsequential they might seem in the _future_ , for the present they would undoubtedly upset her. Noting that, I approached our coming conversation on light footing. And unsurprisingly, though to my dismay, as I explained my experience with Chaney, I saw an unmistakable weariness in Christine's eyes as I spoke; I saw that expression cloud what had only a handful of moments before been an accomplished sort of weariness, watched as it devolved into one of resignation, and in turn, I sorely regretted ever getting involved with Chaney's nonsense in the first place. Christine was still so hurt by his original silence, and now that I was placed that much further in the middle of their tacit fight - now that she was aware that he'd done something to escalate it at all, whether or not he'd realized exactly what he had done - those hurt feelings seemed to multiply with every word I said on the matter.

"All this time, he could've just _called_ _me_ , or, hell, even texted. We could've had this out a _long_ time ago," she huffed when I'd finished giving the brief version of what happened; I had made it a point _not_ to leave my own pettiness out of the narrative, but admittedly I still felt no small amount of validation when Christine had sided with me on my reactions earlier in the day. We were both sitting upright now, facing each other in the middle of the bed, and for the moment, that position was oddly helpful in its own way - it made Christine feel that she wasn't responding with total inaction, if even only symbolically. Without pausing, she pursed her lips in frustration before looking up at me again, "He didn't have to go after you to prove anything."

To that, I weighed my words before speaking again, although not because of any newly discovered sense of altruism. Rather, I didn't want the details of my account to be misunderstood or misinterpreted - Chaney was in the wrong, plain and simple, but on the other side of the issue, I wasn't going to be said to have embellished anything for my own sake. So I responded carefully, "I don't think he necessarily went _after_ me. He just saw an opportunity to talk to me outside of surgery, and he took it. He's an asshole, but he's not stupid."

She answered with a humorless laugh and quirked her eyebrows in annoyed agreement, but then said, "Still, I wonder if I need to go to HR, or - "

" - I don't think it needs to come down to that," I shook my head, then explained, "He had a tantrum today, that's all. We didn't actually fight, and he didn't threaten either of us, and I don't honestly think he wants to. Today could've been worse. Besides, he won't get any satisfaction from riling us up if we choose _not_ to react."

"That's very practical of you."

"Weird, right?"

She smiled, though it faded too quickly, "But I can't believe he'd do any of this at all! I'm so _tired_ of it, Erik. I'm so tired of feeling like I've done something wrong here, like he's punishing me. And how _dare_ he bring up my last pregnancy to you! If I called him right now - "

" - Then you'd be giving him what he wants."

Sighing harshly, she looked away from me once more, seeming to gather her fleeting composure with the gesture. As she did so, she'd placed both hands on the swell of her stomach, encircling it with her protection and absently rubbing small patterns onto the softness of her shirt. Our daughter was right there between us then; it still amazed me that she existed, unseen for now, waiting under the safety of her mother's heart, and I was so grateful for that safety. Christine had been so afraid of losing her in the beginning, heartsick at the thought of losing our daughter as she had her first baby, and I understood that fear more than I could ever admit. I'd never said as much, hadn't wanted to add any more fodder to her very real fears, but the dread of an unexpected loss had interrupted my thoughts more than once at the start of Christine's pregnancy, back when I'd had little else to do but recover and overthink and worry. Chaney was supposed to have been a father, and had that chance taken because of a flaw that would probably never be explained, yet he had mentioned that part of his past to me so readily, almost _offhandedly_ \- and I had wanted to wring his neck for that alone. Combine that with everything else he'd done to provoke me in the past, to provoke Christine since their relationship ended, and I could openly admit to hating the man even as I'd just resolved to keep away.

Unaware of what anger-driven images I was conjuring then, Christine took a deep breath and concluded purposefully, "I'm all for ignoring him if you are."

"Absolutely. And we're starting now," I said with equal determination, lying down and shifting her gently to lay beside me, "I can't stand that little bastard, and I'm not going to have him try to ruin anything else for us. I just want to spend this time with you, uninterrupted."

Moving as close to me as her stomach would allow and pulling the blankets up around us once she was settled, she laughed, "I like the sound of that."

Simply nodding in response, I placed one of my hands on Christine's stomach, very near to where hers had been before we'd laid down; from there we both stayed quiet for a time, comfortable in each other's company and just reveling in this rare and unexpected moment of near-absolute calmness, reveling in the familiar sounds of the cartoon playing over her shoulder, of Willow purring at the head of the bed, of everything that proved we were there, and that we were doing well regardless of more than one difficult start.

That was exactly what I'd wanted, that distinct sort of familiarity, and something that I was sure Christine had needed then as well, as much as I had. Considering that, I noticed that the baby was especially active under my hand in spite of our relative stillness, and not for the first time I mused that she'd probably grow up to be a night-owl much like I'd always been, and much to Christine's dismay. But that thought, as suddenly as it had occurred to me, also pulled me right back to the context of the present, far and away from the future with my child that I was steadily constructing within my mind's eye - Christine was still so tired as we lay together then, and although she'd gotten visibly upset by Chaney's latest slight, the fact remained that her day had already been draining enough long before I'd gotten home and told her what happened. I didn't want to do or say anything more that would only serve to dampen her mood that much further; hell, I didn't want to ignore _any_ aspect of her wellbeing if that could be avoided. A guilty, nagging part of my mind decided that I _had_ unwittingly ignored it anyway.

So I asked, initially distracted when I caught the way the setting sunlight from the half-drawn curtains shone in her eyes, in her hair, before brushing a lock of it behind her ear to bring myself back to the present, "Are you alright? I mean, what happened at work that made you come straight home to Matt Groening?"

She laughed, "Nothing bad, at least for a day in oncology. It was just _busy_ , and I really felt like a beached whale today."

"You're not," I insisted nonchalantly, but at her stern glance, continued seriously, "But I understand," then, after a pause, "It's crazy, she's almost here."

Christine nodded her response to me as I had to her before, making the gesture slowly as she seemed to think about precisely how _little_ time was actually left before her due date.

We had already talked about that, or somewhere along those lines, so many times in the preceding months, had already talked close to excessively about the fact that finishing out her internship would definitely need to be delayed by her weeks of maternity leave, about how much her exhaustion and achiness had increased the further along she got. And admittedly, those discussions weren't always entirely cheerful, didn't always have us looking ahead optimistically; among all of the good to be found in our situation, we had also both experienced more than one moment wherein we'd wondered whether or not we were ready to be parents, often citing the dark shadows of our own absentee parents as a consistent factor hanging over our heads and contributing to our doubts. We had both experienced the kind of anxiety that made us question whether or not we were good enough to raise this baby at all, because from the beginning of her existence we knew that she deserved the world and more, just as I knew that Christine deserved that much. But still, at the end of those handfuls of hesitant conversations, confident anticipation always took hold of us eventually, and we were able to break ourselves and each other from the worst of our concerns, were able to remind one another that those concerns were - for all that they were inconvenient and unwelcome - incredibly normal.

It was better that we focus on such normalcy and all it entailed than to leave ourselves to constantly wonder if piss-poor parenting was a genetic flaw, or simply bad fortune for us both. This certainly wouldn't be the first time the topic came up between us, at any rate.

Once again, Christine was unaware of what I was thinking when she spoke, "I can't wait until she's here. But oh my _God_ , I'm so tired. I have to say, that's a big part of _why_ I can't wait."

"Distract yourself. Tell me something good that happened to you today."

"No, you talk for a while. I want to hear your voice."

Conceding immediately for her sake, and making an effort in turn to put everything I was thinking about and dwelling on aside for now, I spoke in a low tone - and unsurprisingly, she ended up falling asleep before I'd even gotten a chance to say anything of great importance.

~~oOo~~

Chaney didn't bother either of us after that day, nor did he seem especially inclined to do so, for that matter, and after time the incident just lost its sense of urgency for us altogether; I didn't doubt that the man still had a thorn in his side over us, but regardless, he had apparently decided not to be vocal about it again after that one short-lived confrontation.

As it stood, Christine and I had resolved fairly quickly not to waste any more of our time or energy worrying about something that was well beyond our control. Chaney was a grown man - he needed to come to terms with the trajectory of his ex-girlfriend's life and the way she moved forward with it on his own, and as such, we didn't need to check in on him about that process in the meantime. It was his hangup to be dealt with, and one that wasn't worth the workplace awkwardness for me, and certainly not worth the stress for Christine. And anyway, other priorities had swiftly become our sole focus, and with them that focus would remain long after they were considered.

Toward the beginning of April, when the weather finally warmed up and we'd felt some semblance of motivation as a result, one of the last projects that I'd had left to tackle in the house was to paint the baby's room. Christine had specifically wanted the once-plainly decorated room turned lavender, and so that's what she would get.

By then, all of the furniture was put together, and we had gotten pretty much everything we needed for the baby, at least for her first months of life when almost everything for her would be outgrown rapidly. Until the bedroom was ready, all of it was simply waiting in boxes and bags to be organized properly. What we hadn't accumulated ourselves had been gifted to us - Christine's friends had thrown her their long-anticipated baby shower a week or so before that point, an occasion from which I'd been given a reprieve. No one had ever outright said so, but I believed that my absence had been intentional, a favor granted to keep me from having to handle the fuss of so many people around all at once. Samantha had given the party a 50s-theme, one that she'd declared, in her terms, a "no boys allowed" event by default, and thus I'd been barred from it entirely. All in all, I hadn't minded staying away for the few hours it had taken up; the less time that I'd needed to spend socializing, the better. It was Christine's day, the baby's day, and in the end we were both simply grateful for the shower for what it was.

Now that it was over, though, we were reminded once again of how much had to be done before we ran out of time completely, and so I set out to continuing the effort.

Generally, I hated painting. I'd gotten most of the main rooms of the house done upon first moving in simply to counter the clinical, strangely suffocating white walls that had been everywhere at the beginning, but that had been the end of it. Yet even so, the whole process of painting my daughter's bedroom, despite the fact that she wouldn't have any awareness of the purple hues that her mother had chosen for her for quite some time, was honestly a rewarding experience on its own - it was another feat in trying to figure out how to be a father that made my child seem that much more real to me, that much more of a tangible little person waiting to grow up in that space. Moreover, it was something that I was doing for her that I knew I could do the right way, and bearing that attempt at encouragement in mind, I welcomed the steadily-evolving sense of domesticity that followed.

I was somewhere on that train of thought, absentmindedly splattering paint on one of my old and faded black t-shirts as a result - the mass-produced Army logo printed on the front of it now sporting the evidence of my carelessness - when Christine called me to come downstairs.

As soon as I'd gotten to the living room, I was already asking, nearly breathless from rushing out of the baby's room, "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah! I just wanted to talk," she responded brightly from her place on the floor in front of the couch. What part of me that had been concerned as I made my way to her had immediately calmed down again upon seeing her - she was obviously relaxed then, looked comfortable as she added to whatever she'd been working on inside of the notebook that she was holding in her hands, "Sorry, I forgot you were working on the baby's room today. Do you need to go back up?"

"No, it's fine, I'll take the excuse for a break," I said as I moved to sit beside her. Then, gesturing toward the notebook, said, "That again?"

"Yes, Erik, _that_ _again_ ," she responded with mock-impatience, and I couldn't help smiling at her tone, even though at the same time I'd somewhat dreaded that we were likely about to replay a conversation that had yet to be resolved, "We can't refer to her as 'Bean' forever. She needs a name."

Returning her words with a long-suffering sigh, I leaned my head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as I did so.

Ever since we had found out that we were having a girl, the discussion about what her name should be was raised over and over again between us, a seemingly-endless discussion never yielding any concrete decisions, in spite of how much of our combined efforts we dedicated to the subject. It didn't matter how many times we addressed it, we could still never quite agree on one that felt right to either of us, one that felt like it would fit the idea of our daughter that we'd been shaping for so long, and if the discussion didn't end in resignation at our repeatedly failed attempts, then it bordered on a fight, all depending on the words leading up to the inevitable conclusion. I didn't want that to keep happening, and I never thought something so outwardly simple would prove to be such a problem; yet less than a month from the due date, we were no closer to naming our child than we were months before.

"I suck at naming," I said after a beat of silence, my attention still trained sightlessly above me, "I didn't even name Rex. That came from the people that trained him."

"Then let's call _them_ and see if they can help."

"Or just stick with Bean."

She laughed, "That would be cruel, and you know it."

"Bean Durant-Riley," I continued, exaggerating as if I hadn't heard her, "She'll grow up to be a hippie. Her future's already laid out for her, it's perfect."

Another laugh, "Sahra told me they had so much trouble naming Zach that they threw a dart at a baby-names book for him."

"Actually, besides the dart, that's not far from the truth."

Christine smiled, but sobered in the next instant, "You said Durant-Riley."

Not expecting that, I turned to look at her directly, "Right, why?"

Her voice was soft when she spoke again, "I want her to have your last name."

"Just mine?"

"Yes. Just yours."

At that statement, I sighed again, painfully aware of the significance behind the issue of what the baby's last name was going to be.

To be exact, that if our relationship had gone in the direction that I'd wanted it to in the first place, then this wouldn't even _have_ to be an issue to be debated now. It wasn't the first time that I would be reminded of my botched proposal, and certainly not the first time that I would have reason to fiercely regret the way I'd gone about it, to regret the fact that there was still absolutely nothing that I could do to change that part of our past. Christine had made it clear to me that she didn't want to address that topic again in any depth for the foreseeable future, that she wouldn't change her mind just yet, and I had to acknowledge that her decision for not doing so, that the logic behind it, was sound - she was hesitant to take that step after everything we'd gone through, nevermind that we'd had far more important things to take care of before we could even _begin_ to figure out how we could move forward with our relationship. I understood what was at stake whether we got married or not, why we needed to tread carefully. But understanding that didn't make it hurt any less, either, and for the moment, I just needed to _try_ once more, couldn't stop myself from saying _something_ on that point.

"I'm not opposed to her taking Riley…" I began slowly.

"But?"

"But the circumstances are less than desirable. And you know why. You could take my name too, Christine. You _know_ you could, and you know how much I want you to."

"Let's not think about us right now," she said, nearly pleading, and I reminded myself then not to let this get out of hand and badger her just because I was feeling stubborn, "Forget everything else for a minute, I don't want anyone we work with going off and assuming that we're only getting married because of the baby, like we've forced ourselves to stay together so we can raise our poor pathetic bastard child or something."

If nothing else, I appreciated the humor, "She wouldn't actually be a bastard child if we were married, you know."

"That's not my point. What if people think - "

" - Fuck what people think, babe. Whatever they think, they're wrong. Every last one of them, they're wrong and they're colossal jackasses for butting in."

She rolled her eyes and laughed all at once at my bluntness.

But then she went on, her own tone instantly turning firm, a painful contrast from the levity we'd just been attempting, "Erik, I really don't want to do this again. Not right now," she said, emphasizing her words, then, maintaining that more serious tone, she added, "Come on, we need to name this poor baby."

Nodding, knowing when I was about to get myself into trouble, I let the issue lie once more, and bringing her attention back to the half-forgotten notebook, I pointed at one of the columns of hastily scribbled names that was up for consideration, "What about this one? I think it's the only one I've consistently liked, honestly. That was your grandmother's name, right?"

"Right...Josephine," she said fondly, and with that endearing expression, again I found myself engaged in our original conversation. She paused a moment to study the page, intently now, as if testing the name in her mind with the hope that doing so would bring immediate answers, before seeming to lose some of her enthusiasm, "I'm not sure. It rhymes with my name, I feel like that might end up driving us all insane after a while."

"I don't think that'll happen," I shrugged, "We can find a way around it, if it does turn into more of a problem than it needs to be. Either way, it has my vote."

She scoffed, albeit good-naturedly, "At least one does. Finally," then she turned to look at me again, "It's promising. I'll think about it."

~~oOo~~

We had decided, after several more rounds of the same discussion regarding the subject, to name the baby Josephine Marie, for Christine's grandmother and for my godmother, shortening it to the nickname Josie when we saw fit, a term of endearment that occurred nearly instantly, as if we somehow knew even before meeting her that it would be her preference as she got older.

Altogether, the names really did make perfect sense when we finally took a step back from all of the needless second-guessing surrounding the problem of _finding_ them at all, and just settled on them - it was a small wonder that choosing had ever been such a problem to begin with; but then, we'd taken it so seriously that I couldn't bring myself to be surprised that the process had lasted as long as it had, either. It was important to us, we had given the process its due attention, and in the end we were satisfied with our choice. We gave those names to our daughter, very much the most important person to the both of us, largely to honor the two women who had become namesakes in whatever way we possibly could, the women that had influenced us so much when we were young, and that we were now missing terribly at this important juncture in our adult lives. Once we'd determined what the baby's name would be, that in the end it was fitting, it was only a matter of actually continuing to wait for her to arrive, and the day she was born, when it finally happened, was truly surreal.

Christine went into labor close to her due date - nearly to the exact day that her OB had originally estimated, in fact - and thankfully without any need for medical intervention beforehand. Although, regardless of that, she was absolutely miserable by that point just the same, more physically worn down then than she had been in the time leading up to the birth. Dealing with Braxton Hicks contractions regularly during the preceding weeks - each occurrence of false labor steadily increasing in intensity every day - added on to everything else that she was handling, had been uncomfortable for her, to say the least, and those early indications of oncoming labor had only served to exacerbate her discomfort that much further, until it was almost constant. So when she woke me up well before sunrise on the last day of April, correctly determining that false labor had officially turned into active labor, that declaration was _obviously_ accompanied by no small amount of relief on Christine's part, in spite of the definite pain to come. From there, we were able to handle the early stages of it well enough at home. Paying close attention to the baby's movements and the signs in Christine's body that told us when to react and how, we spent the majority of our time simply handling everything that came next, until after a full day spent in the house trying to relax and seeing to any last-minute tasks in equal measure, it was time to leave for the hospital.

Checking into the labor and delivery wing had gone smoothly enough. Once we were settled in to the assigned room there, once Christine had changed into a hospital gown and had been set up with an IV and fetal heart rate monitor, it wasn't long before the obstetrician determined that everything was going as it was supposed to, and that we just needed let nature take its course until the anesthesiologist arrived to offer some relief to Christine in the form of an epidural; but as we waited for that, in the meantime she was left shifting between walking around the small space to ease her discomfort and lying in the bed, trying all the while to focus on getting through each forceful contraction, and eventually just staying put there and attempting unsuccessfully to get some rest. After a while, I'd moved to sit behind her on the bed, coaxing her to lean back against my chest, if doing so allowed her the chance to just calm down for a time. When she'd eased herself against me, it was still several moments before she was able to find a comfortable position, and even that was barely so. She was in pain and exhausted, taking both of my hands in hers and grasping them tightly each time she felt another contraction.

There was so little that I could really do for her then, so little else that I could do to help beyond returning her grip, beyond leaning my head on her shoulder and whispering reassurances into the skin of her neck; I hated not being able to do anything besides offering that sense of comfort. It didn't feel like enough, not by half. Whenever I was in my own OR - when I was acting as a surgeon and an expert in my field, rather than as an entirely inexperienced partner in this regard - I could always provide for my patient, one way or another, could do whatever I needed for them to help them along to recovery, and to keep them out of pain while they were under my care. For Christine, though, all I could do was just be there with her, just continue holding her hand tightly and offering comforting murmurs and encouragements, stay with her when she'd cried upon getting the epidural some time later; and while I was well aware that my presence was enough, that it was the only thing in my capacity _to_ give, it _certainly_ didn't feel like it. But I had to brush that of all aside for her sake. My getting anxious wouldn't do anything but make her upset, and anyway, this experience wasn't about me. It wasn't about what I could or could not do, but rather was about reminding her of everything she was capable of then - that was the most important factor to keep in mind.

So I stayed by her side, and together we just kept waiting. The hospital was, of course, never silent during our time within its walls, providing us with a strange kind of background noise to punctuate the occasion - and yet to be honest, it was one that was oddly soothing to us both, reminding us, though perhaps unconsciously, that we weren't alone in this at all. We weren't alone in the struggle and anticipation to reach this once-in-a-lifetime milestone in the form of the birth of our first child. That thought was always somewhere in the back of my mind, that unfamiliar sense of affinity with the other parents, and I'd brought the notion up later on, when the day began to fall into night; by that point, at Christine's request, I had laid down next to her when she was nearly dozing, her pain finally reduced enough that she could try for some much-needed rest, and her smile at my words is one that I'll never forget. In that state, each of us keenly feeling the weary effects of the long day behind us, we continued to speak to each other about that and so much more before she fell asleep, talked softly while the people in their rooms around us either slept restlessly or met their own babies in a thrill of emotions, our words coming in hushed tones under the bar-light shining on its lowest setting above the bed about our mingled fear and excitement. We spoke to the nurses that were coming and going as the night progressed, when Christine had woken up again, listened to the OB update us on Christine's status...and we just waited.

She had labored for a long time, and ultimately what we had assumed for months would be an end-of-April birthdate became the first of May officially, in the early hours of the morning just past sunrise. But for all of the hours that she had spent laboring, especially overnight after her short time sleeping when the labor had gotten to be at its most intense once more, the delivery itself went quickly by comparison - nearly enough so to be overwhelming with how fast everything had changed for us, at the sheer magnitude of that change with every second that it took to unfold. Before we knew it, she was assisted in moving into a better position, being told to push, being told to focus and to breathe evenly throughout the birth, and thanks to all of her incredible effort we saw the baby coming into being right in front of our eyes. Despite the medical personnel that surrounded us during the entirety of the process, it was still unimaginably intimate for me to witness even so, intimate to gain that immediate and profound understanding of what exactly Christine and I were sharing between us as I looked on, one hand at her shoulder, the other held fast to her own hand, accepting when she held tightly to mine to the point of pain in return, as she worked to bring our daughter into the world.

"Come on, Christine," the nurse across from me said near the end, her encouragements highlighted by the cheerfulness of her words that spoke volumes of her years of experience in her profession, "You can do it, we're all ready to meet your baby!"

Christine cried out one more time then, seeming to instinctively shift forward as she closed her eyes and gripped my hand that much harder. And then all at once, surrounded by bright lights and neonatal medical equipment and an outpouring of voices cheering her on, the baby was there in her rushing debut - she was finally _there_ before us, crying that distinct, wavering yet powerful cry of a newborn. And I swear to God that time stopped, that the entire world had ceased its turning in that instant, just for her.

With tiny fists flailing indignantly at the sudden coldness of her new environment, Josephine Riley was held up carefully in the doctor's hands for us to see for the first time, before being placed on Christine's chest. Breathing hard in the wake of her effort, she'd let go of my hand to focus on the baby by then, and yet I had barely noticed the abrupt loss of contact - rather, I couldn't find the strength or the willingness within myself to look away from this scene, couldn't give anything less than my full attention to this first real glimpse of my daughter, or of Christine holding onto her, simultaneously laughing and weeping before she stopped to catch her breath, to whisper her welcomes and endearments to the wailing baby in her arms. It was amazing, all of it. This was my family - in a very real sense, I'd been given a family in an instant, so different from the one I'd known before, and it was staggering. For the first time, I felt complete. She was safe and healthy - she was _ours_. I couldn't think of any other accomplishment that made me more proud. The fact that I almost hadn't lived to see this day was never far from my mind, but in those moments, the thought returned to me with a driving force. If there was life after death, then I knew without a doubt that I would _never_ have forgiven myself for missing this turning point.

Several beats had passed before I realized that I'd been crying, because until then I hadn't even noticed, and then was barely aware of the movements I'd made in turn to brush the remaining tears from my eyes and try to laugh it off - it was only when Christine forced my gaze back to meet hers that I had returned to the present entirely. When she smiled up at me, the image of her with our baby securely in her arms engraved itself in my memories from then on.

I was at her side again immediately, leaning down to kiss her firmly before shaking my head, still somewhat in a state of disbelief, "You're amazing, Christine, you did so well," I murmured, moving to sweep the hair that had come loose from her ponytail back behind her ear as I continued, "I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. I can't say enough how proud I am of you."

Another smile, "I'm so glad you're here, Erik."

A thousand meanings accompanied those words, but they didn't need to be spoken aloud or broken down further, not then. And so I just responded simply, "So am I."

Immeasurable moments passed after that exchange, and from there I had accepted when I was asked to cut the umbilical cord, had stayed close by - both from my own drive to do so and at Christine's insistence - when Josie was taken away to be cleaned up, to be weighed and measured and properly swaddled, and when all the while I was charged with filling out what I could of the birth certificate. Christine and I didn't speak very much when we three were eventually reunited, didn't speak much to one another or even in general, beyond agreeing to the nurse's offer to take a picture of our new little family on my phone, a picture in which I felt myself genuinely smiling with almost no effort in giving the expression; but beyond those small adherences to the tradition of documenting our daughter's birth, it seemed that there really was nothing that we needed to say then. For the time being, we just needed to exist, felt the draw of sharing space and letting the gravity of the occasion settle around us.

For the time being, it was enough.

~~oOo~~

Later, I was standing in the hallway just outside of our postpartum room, finishing the phone call to Gene to impart the news about the baby, when Nadir and Sahra arrived as planned, and more or less _when_ they'd planned, to my surprise. They had Zach in tow then, the child holding on to a teddy-bear as he walked quickly ahead of his parents to greet me, the bear a bright pink and overly feathery monstrosity that he'd already gone into great detail about the process of choosing as a gift for the baby, one that he'd insisted upon giving her the day she was born and not a moment after; as such, I recognized the toy immediately, laughing inwardly at the child's generosity, if not at his unconventional taste. Finishing my goodbyes to my grandfather, I smiled as they approached, and then tightly embraced Nadir and Sahra in turn.

"Do we get to see the baby now?" Zach asked as soon as he'd had the chance, looking up at me as he attempted to appear taller than he actually was - nearly six years old by then, he no longer wanted me to pick him up and carry him everywhere as he had when he was younger, but he'd still always made it a point to remain close by regardless, never straying too far whenever he felt the need to be involved in the adults' conversations.

" _If_ Miss Christine is ready, and _if_ you use your inside-voice _the whole time_ , then we can see the baby," Sahra interjected sternly to her son before I could say anything, subtly reminding him of his manners, then to me directly, "Is she up for visitors?"

I nodded, "Go ahead, she's excited to see you guys."

Sahra took Zach's hand in her own, very likely as a means of keeping his enthusiasm in check, but Nadir hung back rather than joining them, gesturing for me to do the same. As soon as Sahra and Zach left and closed the door behind them, he smirked - an entirely conspiratorial look that was typical of him - and pulled a cigar wrapped with a pink band from his shirt pocket.

I laughed at the sight when he handed it to me, "How very old-school, I love it."

He shrugged nonchalantly, "I had to keep with the 50s thing from the shower."

"Well, thank you," I mock-saluted, "Seriously, I _do_ love it, I mean it. This is great."

"I figured you'd appreciate it. This is a big deal, you're a dad today!"

"Please, I'm still adjusting."

He nodded gravely, returning my laughter before moving on, "Good phone call, I take it?"

"It was. Gene wanted to know everything, weight, length, full name and credentials, everything to tell his friends."

"Looks like he's enjoying being a great-grandfather already."

"He's ecstatic. He had to miss this part with me, you know?" I smiled, a bit too sadly for the circumstances, yet oddly fitting at the same time, "It means a lot to him to have this all now."

"What about you? Seriously, how're you feeling?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"You're still freaking out."

"Right. In the best way possible."

"That's normal."

"It's fucking _insane_ ," I said emphatically, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, trying to find the right words to describe exactly what I was thinking then, "I'm so in love with her already that I want to launch myself into space, it's ridiculous."

He rolled his eyes, but smiled, "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Come on, let's head in. I'm ready to meet my niece."

Pocketing the cigar myself, I held out my hand with a dramatic flourish to tell him wordlessly to lead the way back to our families, and left the conversation there, satisfied that I wasn't expected to say anything even remotely close to making sense for the immediate future. Nadir understood where my mind was staying that day, I didn't need to attempt to translate anything about it to him - he'd gone through it all before, and he knew what I wasn't able to say. Afterward, the Khans' visit wasn't extensive or intrusive at all - it lasted just long enough to meet the baby and to congratulate us, but they were gracious in not needing to be hosted or entertained. Upon leaving, they'd promised to stop by the house once we had been discharged from the hospital, assuring us that they'd readily serve as our reinforcements while we adjusted to our life with a newborn, and we accepted that offer with more gratitude than we could adequately describe. Josie was our first, possibly only child, but despite our inexperience, we were well aware of the sleep deprivation that was in store for us, and any help that we could get on that front was _beyond_ appreciated.

When Christine and I were alone with the baby again - when she was done feeding and had fallen asleep in the clear-sided hospital bassinet - I sat down carefully alongside Christine, now curled up on her side facing the baby, and said bluntly, "My love, we've had a hell of a day."

She laughed, pulling me to lay down with her, "My love, we've had a hell of a _year_."

"That's an understatement. I can't believe how much has changed, though. This time last year was _nothing_ like now."

She didn't speak for a moment, and in that span of time I thought that she'd fallen asleep again as well - but then she turned to face me, a new sadness in her eyes that was jarring for me to see after the absolute joy that had been there before, and with a sigh, she said almost inaudibly, "This time last year, I thought you were getting ready to propose."

I paused, taken aback by where her thoughts had taken her, all things considered, and weighed my words before I responded to her with the truth, "I _was_ getting ready to propose, Christine…The _right_ way. And I hate myself for missing the chance. Everything's different now."

Shaking her head and seeming to think better of what she'd set in motion as suddenly as it had happened, she amended in a haste, "Don't worry about it...Like you said, a lot's changed."

"No...honey, look at me. I still want to marry you, that hasn't changed," I said evenly when I'd captured her gaze again, laying my hand on her cheek to keep her attention on me, on what I needed to say to her, perhaps now more than ever, " _I still want to marry you_. Because I love you. But if it takes years, or even if it never happens, I don't want you to think I'll love you any less," and nodding toward the bassinet, I added firmly, "I'm not abandoning either of you."

"I know," she replied, and even though I didn't necessarily think that she was trying to convince either of us of that assurance, it still stung me to remember that there would remain that one single goddamned shred of doubt for as long as my mistakes were close to the forefront of both of our minds. Doubt that wasn't there last year, before the baby and my shameful reaction to her unexpected presence, before the shooting, before everything had gone so terribly _wrong_. And then, as if confirming the pain I'd just been recalling, she continued, "But I don't know how long I'll have to worry that this isn't what you wanted for your life."

My response to her concern was almost instant, "I wanted to be normal, I wanted to be in a family. Then I met you, and I wanted that for you more than I did for myself," I sighed, hesitating before I went on, "Honestly, sometimes I think I wanted more than I could give you."

"But are you happy?"

"What? _Yes,_ of course I am," I said insistently, shaking my head and pulling her as close to me as would be comfortable for her, "Christine, please, _please_ know that I love you. Both of you, and I swear to God that I'd do anything for you and our daughter. You're my family, this is my whole _life_. I can't even begin to describe how much that means to me. _Happy_ isn't enough. I'm not going to just walk away like it all meant nothing."

She didn't say anything to that - I suspected then that she'd believed that whatever conversation would arise to follow this one could wait, it seemed, at least until we'd both come down from the high of barely-contained emotions after Josephine was born - and in her wisdom, she went on instead, "You know what? Meg's asking for pictures," she said as she moved away from me enough to reach for her phone on the bedside table, "I wanted to send the one of all three of us together, the one the nurse took a little while ago. Is that alright with you? She'll share it with every single person she comes into contact with today, fair warning."

Not inclined to second-guessing the decision, I agreed. It surprisingly was easy to set my personal reservations about mixing my professional and private lives aside - nevermind for a minute what had just taken place, I was so proud, and this, more than anything, was an occasion that I'd wanted to share. And, truth be told, I'd also just wanted something to distract me, however temporarily, from the pangs of guilt that I was feeling then. Because even though the conversation about our relationship was over, it was only over _for_ _now_ , I knew, and it scared me to death that I wouldn't be able to convince Christine of my continued commitment to her in the future.

With Josie sleeping close by, though, that beautiful living reminder once again of everything that was at stake, that distraction proved to be short-lived.


End file.
